


The Lost Dragon

by The_Jade_Samurai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And a Direwolf, And is a little mad, Arthur is Jon's guardian, But he tries to be, Dany has hurt feelings, F/M, He's also the Crown Prince, Jaime is a good guy, Joffrey's still an incestuous bastard though, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon has a dragon, Jon wishes that he was a Stark, Myrcella and Tommen are true born Targaryens, Rhaegar Lives, Rhaegar is not a very good father, She also likes fire, The dragons have different names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jade_Samurai/pseuds/The_Jade_Samurai
Summary: Nine years after Rhaegar killed Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident, his oldest surviving son Jon is sent to ward at Winterfell with his mother's family. As he grows up, the dragons return, the Long Night approaches and with it, the dead. Closer to home, wars are fought over petty blood feuds and broken promises amidst lies and deceptions.With enemies on all sides Jon must do all that he can to protect the ones he loves and rise up to be the Prince the Seven Kingdoms needs,





	1. The Prince Heads North

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys and welcome to my first story here! I'll keep this brief but I hope you enjoy it!

**When Prince Rhaegar emerged victorious at the Battle of the Trident, he was quick to return to King’s Landing, only to find that the Lannister army, led by Tywin Lannister, had been sacked. Its people murdered, its women raped, its buildings burned. Lord Tywin claimed ignorance to the barbarism of his men, and Rhaegar was unable to prove otherwise. When Rhaegar fled to the Red Keep, he found his son Aegon, daughter Rhaenys and wife Elia murdered by the Mountain.**

**Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard killed Ser Gregor when he found the Mountain standing over their bodies, and their bodies were brought to the new King Rhaegar, while he sat upon the throne that was still stained with the blood of his father, Aerys the Mad. The Kingslayer Jaime Lannister was whipped, a much softer punishment for what was deserved for king slaying, yet Rhaegar could not begrudge Jaime Lannister for his choice and kept him on his Kingsguard.**

**Rhaegar would not stay in King’s Landing for long, for he had to return to the Tower of Joy in Dorne, where his pregnant wife awaited him. So, after securing the fealty of all the Houses that rose up against the Targaryens, including the Starks, he made for Dorne. Unfortunately, upon his arrival, he found his beloved wife Lyanna dead in a bed of her own blood, surrounded by the Kingsguard knights sworn to protect her and her older brother Eddard cradling her as he cried, while holding a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes.**

**That baby was Jaeherys Targaryen, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.**

* * *

 

“Come now Jon, surely you can do better!” taunted Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and Jon’s personal Kingsguard.

Jon only growled and charged at his mentor with his blunted sword raised high in the air. It proved to be his mistake and Ser Arthur sidestepped Jon’s attack before swatting him on the backside, making Jon shout in surprise and pain. Jon dropped his sword and his hands went straight to cover his buttocks in an attempt to rub away the stinging sensation, but soon his hands felt the same pain when Arthur smacked them too.

“Do not let your guard down, and especially do not drop your sword,” admonished Arthur.

“It is a bit hard to do that when you just tried to slice my arse open,” snapped Jon.

“Language,” said Arthur disapprovingly and swatted Jon on the top of his head. Jon’s ears rang in his head, and he growled before running at Arthur.

To Arthur’s astonishment, Jon was able to tackle him to the floor, despite being only nine years old, and the two wrestled in the dirt, kicking dust into the air. Both were laughing, and despite the aching in his muscles, Jon felt truly happy. If only his own father were here to share it with him. Rhaegar was busy in a small council meeting, discussing something that was probably more important than Jon. The King would be called into more and more of these meetings, leaving Jon alone with Arthur. Not that Rhaegar was around for Jon beforehand, for Jon reminded Rhaegar of his true love, Lyanna Stark too much to be in the same room as Jon for too long. Dany was around less as well, but Jon did not mind not seeing Viserys. It would be better for everyone really.

Jon and Arthur’s wrestling match was called to a halt when they heard the sound of clapping from the edge of the training yard. Jon scrambled off Arthur as quickly as he could and straightened up at the sight of his father staring down from the balcony with a small smile that made his usually solemn face appear more handsome. It was one of the rare smiles that Jon always wanted to see on his father’s face. Beside Rhaegar, Queen Cersei looked down on Jon with a look of distaste, as though she thought the sight of a prince wrestling in the dirt with his bodyguard disgusting and improper. Jon had remind himself that Cersei probably thought that merely looking at Jon was disgusting. Jon’s younger half-brother Jofaerys and sister Myrcella clutched at Cersei’s skirts, Myrcella with a look of adoration towards Jon while Jofaerys shared the same look as his mother.

“A good effort, my son,” said Rhaegar approvingly, making Jon smile at his father’s praise.

“My love, do you not think that training the boy at this age a little early?” said Cersei with such false concern that it made Jon want to retch.

“Nonsense Cersei. I first held a sword at six years of age, the same as Jon. Ser Arthur here even earlier,” said Rhaegar with little concern. “And look how the both of us turned out. I am sure Jon will become a fine warrior under the Sword of the Morning’s tutelage.”

Judging by the look on Cersei’s face she disagreed with the King’s assessment.

“Clean yourself up Jon, you have you lessons with Maester Pycelle soon,” continued Rhaegar before he and Cersei walked away from the edge of the balcony, Jofaerys and Myrcella trailing behind them.

Jon groaned and dusted himself off before Arthur escorted him back to his chambers, grumbling the whole way there. He had a quick bath and scrubbed himself clean as best he could and dressed quickly, then went to his lessons with Maester Pycelle. He paid little attention, as his mind chose to think about his sword work rather than the maester’s droning on about the Dance of Dragons. Such was the life of the young prince. Ever since he was old enough to walk and talk, his life consisted of learning how to wield a sword and lance, how to dance (he was awful at it, despite being called a natural with the sword), and lessons with the maester. When he had free time, it was spent raiding the kitchens with Dany, playing in the Red Keep’s gardens or spending even more time practicing his sword work.

After his lesson with Maester Pycelle ended, Jon made made his way to the gardens as quickly as he could. Arthur easily kept up with the young prince, each stride of his long legs equal to three of Jon’s. He zipped around the gardens, laughing and shouting the titles of different Targaryen princes and Stark lords at the top of his lungs. A high-pitched voice of a young girl’s joined Jon’s yelling, and out of one of the bushes a small girl with silvery-blonde hair and eyes the colour of amethysts, jumped out at Jon with cheeky smiles on their faces. From around the bushes walked Ser Barristan Selmy, Dany’s personal Kingsguard.

“I knew you would be here!” said Jon excitedly.

“Of course. Where else would we be?” said Dany.

“With your septa learning to be a lady,” said Arthur from behind Jon wryly. Dany and Jon’s faces fell.

“Oh please don’t let that awful woman take me away Ser Arthur!” pleaded Dany, her eyes widening like a puppy’s.

“You really should attend your lessons, the both of you,” admonished Ser Barristan, but Jon could tell that the old knight was jesting. Of all the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan was the most lenient when it came to the young prince and princess’s avoidance of their lessons. Even Arthur was fairly strict with Jon, and the knight was practically Jon’s uncle.

“But they’re boring!” protested Dany.

“They are what will make you a great king and princess someday,” said Ser Barristan sagely. “Without them, you would be little more than savages.”

“You have fought savages before, haven’t you Ser?” said Jon questioningly. “More than most men my age,” responded Ser Barristan. “Someday, I’m going to be a great warrior like you!” proclaimed Jon loudly.

“I will destroy all of the crown’s enemies to the last man!”

“A great warrior does not seek out war,” cautioned Arthur. “But he must always be ready for it.”

Jon’s excitement tempered some at Arthur’s words, for he knew he was right. He became excited again when Dany suggested they pretend to be Aemon the Dragonknight and Princess Naerys. It was Dany’s favourite game, and Jon enjoyed it too, though his personal favourite was when they reenacted Aegon the Conqueror’s conquest of Westeros upon Balerion the Black Dread. The two children had been playing for over an hour when Arthur came over with a grim look on his face.

“The King has requested your presence in his solar, my prince,” he said. Jon’s face fell and he gave Dany an apologetic look.

“Can we play again after I have finished meeting with Father?” he asked hopefully.

Dany pouted, but she eventually nodded, and Jon gave his aunt a small smile before he followed Arthur back into the Keep.

“Do you know why he wants to see me?” asked Jon.

Arthur’s face gave nothing away when he said, “I have my suspicions.” But his voice sounded sad, almost resigned.

That made Jon worry. When they arrived at Father’s solar, Arthur opened the door for Jon, but remained outside, leaving the dark-haired prince alone in a room Jon had only been in a handful of times. Father sat behind his desk, which was made of a deep mahogany and stacked with books and scrolls. Father, while certainly one of the best fighters alive in Westeros, was a bookish person by nature. More often you would see him reading a thick tome or discussing some particular topic with the scholars than in the training yard.

Rhaegar looked up from the missive he was writing and stared at Jon, though his face had no emotion on it.

“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to one of the chairs facing him/ Jon obeyed and hopped up into one of them, then stared at his father expectantly.

Rhaegar said nothing for a long time, seeming content to stare at his only living son to the point where Jon was beginning to feel uncomfortable. That was what Rhaegar was good at; making Jon feel uncomfortable. He was never sure if his father was staring approvingly or in disappointment, because Rhaegar almost always looked solemn whenever Jon was around him. He had heard the whispers around court; that apparently Rhaegar had not truly smiled since Lyanna Stark, Jon’s mother, died. Many of the smiles he did give were false, and the real ones he reserved for his eldest living son, daughter and younger sister. Jon had also heard that he had inherited his own sullen and brooding nature from his father, though many in court argued that he got it from his uncle Lord Eddard Stark. Jon had never met the Lord of Winterfell, or rather he didn’t remember meeting him, having been just a newborn babe.

“Jaeherys,” said Rhaegar, and Jon flinched. His father was the only person who called him by his Targaryen name, while everyone else referred him by the Northern name his uncle had given him. “I wish to discuss with you something that has been weighing on my mind for some time now.”

“I will help in any way I can, your grace,” said Jon.

Rhaegar’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “I have been in communication with your lord uncle the past three moons, and it is his desire to see you go to Winterfell as his ward for a time.”

Jon’s eyes widened. Him, go to Winterfell? “For how long Father?” asked Jon.

“Lord Eddard and I are still finalizing the details, but at this point you would be staying with them for roughly ten years.”

“Ten years?!” exclaimed Jon excitedly. It felt like his dreams were coming true. He had expressed his desire to see the home of his mother for years now, to meet his uncle Eddard and aunt Catelyn and his cousins. “I... I do not know what to say. When do I leave?”

“In a moon’s turn,” answered Rhaegar.

“That soon?” said Jon in surprise.

“Lord Eddard reports that it has been snowing a little heavier in the North than usual, and he is worried that any passage will probably be blocked off. He has suggested that you travel by ship to White Harbour though,” explained Rhaegar.

“Oh,” said Jon thoughtfully. “But ten years? It is an awful long time father.” Rhaegar sighed and stood up before walking around his desk and kneeling before Jon.

“It is a long time indeed,” agreed Rhaegar. “But I feel that it is best for you to spend as much time as you can in the North with your family before you come home to King’s Landing.”

“But will you be fine?” asked Jon, staring into his father’s dark indigo eyes imploringly.

“I will be. I have Daenerys and Viserys here with me, as well as Jofaerys, Rhaenys, Myrcella and Cersei,” said Rhaegar soothingly.

Jon scrunched his nose. “Dany and Myrcella are fine, but I doubt that Jofaerys, Viserys and Cersei will make things any easier,” he said in a disgusted tone.

Rhaegar let out a laugh, a real laugh, and mussed up Jon’s dark curls with his hand lovingly. “I do not think I can disagree with you on that my boy,” he said amusedly.

Jon giggled, but the mood quickly sobered up. “I don’t want to leave you Father,” he said sadly.

“And I don’t want you to leave me either. But this will be a good experience for you. You will learn all about the people of the North, their customs and cultures. You already follow the Old Gods like your mother did, and you have the Stark look,” said Rhaegar. “Your uncle is a good man, despite our differences. He will teach you well and turn you into the kind of man I know you can become. The kind of man worthy of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon could not take it anymore, and he jumped out of his chair and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck tightly. His father stiffened slightly but he quickly relaxed and embraced Jon just as tightly, and the two stayed that way for a long time.

* * *

 

The month leading up to the Crown Prince’s departure was busy with preparations. When Jon had told Dany, she had gotten angry. “You and me were supposed to stay together forever!” she had screamed.

“I do not really want to go,” said Jon weakly, even though it was not true. The truth was that he couldn’t wait to leave King’s Landing for Winterfell. He hated his home with a passion and made no secret of it, and it was all thanks to the members of court, whispering foul things about himself and his mother, his uncle and younger brother’s cruelty, his step-mother’s murderous glares. He hated that so much was expected of him, and how he felt he would fail to live up to those expectations. Dany knew that Jon hated it here as well, so she saw straight through his lie.

“You do want to go though! To see your other family! You are leaving me for them!”

“Dany-”

“I hate you! You’re a dragon, but you want to live with wolves! I hate you!” she shrieked before she had fled from Jon’s presence, leaving the prince heartbroken.

Dany had barely said a word to him since.

Viserys and Cersei both did not even bother to hide their glee at Jon’s impending travels, and Viserys had even whispered in Jon’s ear that he hoped something horrible happened to him. Myrcella was simply too young to understand that her oldest brother was leaving, and would not return until she was a woman grown. Arthur was to accompany Jon, much to Cersei’s ire, for apparently she had hoped that she could convince him to stay and become Jofaerys’ bodyguard. When Jon asked him about long after they had left King’s Landing, Arthur said he would rather serve a whore than Jofaerys.

The ship was ready to set sail North, and the entire royal family, small council and Kingsguard were there to see them off. Jon had long since said his farewells to his family and Ser BarristanThey all watched as a small chest was encrusted with rubies was loaded onto the ship, and Rhaegar nodded his head before handing Arthur a long package that looked suspiciously like a sword. Rhaegar himself then knelt down before Jon and placed both hands on his shoulders.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“A little,” admitted Jon. “Good. A little fear makes one cautious, but prepared for anything,” said Rhaegar. When Jon lowered his head, Rhaegar’s right hand dropped from his shoulder to grab his chin to lift it so that Jon could look his father in the eyes. “Remember Jon. You are as much a Stark as you are a Targaryen. Both ice and fire flow through your veins. Remember that, and you will thrive wherever you go.”

“Yes Father,” said Jon quietly, and Rhaegar pulled Jon into a final hug. He did not expect his father, however to put his mouth over his ear.

“In that chest is a dragon egg that you will take to Winterfell with you. While you are there I want you to figure out a way to hatch it,” Rhaegar whispered.

“A dragon egg?” Jon whispered back. “Yes. Find out how to bring the dragons back, but you must always be under supervision by Ser Arthur. Do you understand?” “Yes Father,” said Jon, and Rhaegar let go.

“Your mother would be proud of you,” said Rhaegar in a voice that conveyed both pride and sadness. He stood up then and took a step back, before he nodded to Jon. Jon placed a hand over his fist and bowed to his King, then went to follow Arthur up onto the ship.

“Jon!” called out a voice, and when Jon turned around, the air was knocked out of him and his vision overcome with the sight of silver-blonde hair. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it!” sobbed Dany into Jon’s shoulder.

Jon recovered quickly and returned the embrace, saying that he knew she did not mean what she said. They let go, and Dany pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek before she ran back to stand next to Rhaegar. When the ship set sail and Jon turned back to look upon the Red Keep one last time, he could see two figures standing alone, both with hair that shone light liquid moonlight, yet one was far taller than the other.

**NED**

Snow fell softly as the whole Stark household waited out in the courtyard for the royal retinue to arrive. the Starks stood at the front, with the steward and his family, the master-at-arms, septa and Theon Greyjoy behind them, followed by the rest of Winterfell’s occupants. The Stark family stood in one line with Ned on the left and Arya on the far right. Next to Ned stood Cat, who was holding a one year old Bran in her arms. Robb and Sansa stood in between Cat and Arya, and Ned prayed to the Old Gods that his children would behave themselves in front of the Prince.

Jon, Ned reminded himself. Lyanna’s boy. The boy who should have been here in Winterfell instead of in that viper pit they call King’s Landing. The boy who Ned swore he would protect, and so far he had done a terrible job.

Ned brushed those thoughts aside when a guard shouted for the gates to be opened, and the first line of soldiers bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen riding atop horses rode through into the courtyard. They were followed by more soldiers, then a knight wearing the golden armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard. Ser Arthur Dayne, thought Ned. The last time they had met, it was at the Tower of Joy, and Ned and his men had been gearing up to fight Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent when...

 _Do not think on that_ , Ned scolded himself.

Ser Arthur hopped off his horse with ease, and Ned saw the sword of House Dayne, Dawn, hanging from his sword belt. His eyes travelled up to look at the thin object wrapped in thick leather hanging off his back, and Ned wondered why the Sword of the Morning was concealing a second sword. His attention was drawn from the sword when Ser Arthur walked over to the pony that had trailed behind him, and he helped the boy who looked double the size from all the furs he wore from off the pony. Ser Arthur directed the boy over to the awaiting Starks, and Ned felt Catelyn stiffen beside him.

“Gods Ned. He looks just like you,” whispered Cat.

 _No, he looks just like Lyanna_ , thought Ned. The boy was of average height for a nine year old, and Ned could understand why Cat wold think the boy looked like him. He had a long, solemn face and dark grey eyes just like Ned, and his skin was pale despite having spent his whole life under the blistering sun of the South, but Ned could see that Lyanna had left much of herself in her son as well. His hair was a shade of brown so dark it could almost be called black, and fell in thick curls just like Lyanna’s had. The only sign that he was Rhaegar’s boy was that he looked lean under those furs, and Ned suspected that he would grow to be quite tall as well. Under the grey wolf furs he wore a black doublet with blood red trimming, and his pants and boots were styled in a similar manner. Fastened to his doublet was a silver pin bearing three dragon heads, the symbol of house Targaryen.

Ned dropped to one knee and lowered his head when Prince Jon came closer, and his family and the rest of his household followed his example. “Your Grace, as Warden of the North I welcome you and offer up Winterfell to you,” said Ned, his head still lowered. He could see the prince’s boots shuffling awkwardly, and the courtyard was filled with silence for a moment. Ned heard Ser Arthur whisper something to Prince Jon, and the boy cleared his throat.

“Rise, Lord Stark. I thank you for your hospitality and accept your offer,” said Prince Jon with as much dignity as a boy of nine years could muster. Ned stood up from where he knelt and towered over the Prince, but not in an imposing way.

Cat and the others followed soon after, and Ned offered Prince Jon a smile. “It is good to see you again, your grace,” said Ned.

He saw the way Jon grimaced at Ned’s manners. “If it please you my lord, I would prefer it if you just called me Jon,” said the Prince.

“Then it that case I must insist that you call me Uncle Ned, or Ned, if you prefer,” he replied.

“Uncle Ned,” said Jon, as if he were testing the words on his tongue for the first time. The prince nodded his head, seeming to like it, then he stepped over to stand in front of Cat. “Lady Catelyn,” said Jon with a bow towards the Lady of WInterfell.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” said Cat warmly. “But I must ask the same thing of you that Ned asked. Aunt Catelyn or Cat is fine.”

Jon’s face flushed red with embarrassment and he mumbled an apology, which he stuttered through because he called Cat Lady Catelyn again. Cat seemed to sense his unease and she adjusted the little Bran on her hip. “This here is Bran. He’s the youngest of our children,” said Cat, and Ned resisted to urge to smile.

Jon’s eyes lit up just a little bit when he saw Bran, but it was gone as soon as it came, and with another nod, Jon moved so he could meet Robb.

“Hi!” said Robb loudly, and Ned saw Jon jump slightly at Robb’s enthusiasm. “I’m Robb, eldest son of Ned and Catelyn Stark. I heard that we’re the same age so that means we’ll be training together. Have you ever practiced in the yards before?”

“It was one of the few things I enjoyed doing back in King’s Landing,” said Jon.

Robb beamed. “Excellent! Lessons with the maester are boring, aren’t they?”

“They can be quite dull at times,” said Jon shyly, but Ned could see a smile threatening to break out on his face.

 

“But no less important,” said Cat sternly, and both boys blushed in embarrassment.

“I look forward to spending time in the yards with you Robb,” said Jon with a small bow.

“Likewise cousin,” said Robb happily.

Jon nodded and he stepped away from Robb... and his whole body seemed to freeze in place when his eyes drifted over to Sansa. Jon’s grey eyes widened in... was it wonder? Ned could not be sure, but Catelyn seemed to see it as well, and she smiled warmly.

“Your Grace,” said Sansa sweetly, the little seven year old girl dipping into a curtsey like the little lady she was.

“I...” mumbled Jon, his eyes never leaving Sansa. Sansa seemed to notice Jon’s hesitance as well, and she frowned.

“What is the matter, Your Grace? Do I not please you?” she said sadly, and Ned could see tears forming in her eyes.

Jon’s mouth dropped open in shock. “No!” he said, perhaps a little too loudly. “You do please me, I was just, er... taken by your uh... beauty is all,” stammered Jon, his face flushing red, and Catelyn nudged Ned’s side.

“As good with words as you,” she teased quietly, and Ned smirked.

“I will take that as a compliment,” whispered Ned back. Sansa’s mood instantly brightened at Jon’s compliment, for her cheeks attained the same shade of red as Jon’s and she dipped into another curtsey.

“You are too kind, my Prince,” said Sansa.

“Call me Jon, my lady,” said Jon warmly. Sansa’s blush deepened further as the Prince moved to greet the last member of House Stark.

“Hello,” said Jon. Arya said nothing for a moment, and just stared at Jon like he was a strange creature.

Ned was about to open his mouth to remind Arya of her manners when she said, “You don’t look like a Targaryen.”

Sansa gasped at Arya’s bluntness, and Cat hissed for her to behave herself, but instead of looking offended, Jon smiled a full smile, making him look every bit his nine years.

“I don’t? And what am I supposed to look like?” asked Jon in an amused tone.

“Targaryens are supposed to have silver hair and purple eyes,” answered Arya bluntly.

“You look more like Father and me than the King.” Jon’s smile widened even more, and Ned silently thanked the Old Gods for Arya at this moment. Jon’s introductions with the rest of Winterfell’s household did not take as long as when he met with his family, and soon Cat was ushering the children and prince inside, leaving Ned alone out in the courtyard with Ser Arthur.

Ser Arthur extended his hand out, and Ned clasped it tightly before letting go. “My lord,” said Ser Arthur in that husky baritone voice of his.

“Ser Arthur,” replied Ned. “I trust that your journey was pleasant?”

“It is a little colder than I anticipated, but we experienced no trouble,” answered Ser Arthur.

“I will have my people make sure you are settled in,” assured Ned.

“I thank you my lord,” said Ser Arthur. He leaned forward a little bit, so that his words would only be for Ned’s ears. “I would like to speak to you concerning the prince. Alone,” he added.

“Of course. Follow me,” said Ned, and he led the Kingsguard knight into the warm walls of the castle and up several flights of stairs into his shoulder. When Ned had Ser Arthur inside, he commanded his guards that he was not to be disturbed by anyone. Ned gave a quick glance around his solar. It was tidy, with papers stacked neatly on his desk, as well as a small collection of tomes that rested on a bookcase to the side. The fire in the hearth had had fresh wood recently put into it, and the flames cast a warm light through the solar. Atop the mantlepiece rested the enormous greatsword Ice, the Valyrian sword of House Stark.

“My lord, as you know, it is my first and foremost duty to protect the royal family, and I have sworn to protect Jon with my life,” said Ser Arthur once Ned sat down behind his desk, and he noticed that the knight did not use any of Jon’s titles. _Good. That means he is close with the boy._

“I am aware of that. What is it you would like to discuss Ser?” said Ned.

“Firstly, security. If it is not too much trouble my lord, I ask that I be given a detailed tour of the castle and a schedule of the all the shifts Winterfell’s guards keep,” said Ser Arthur.

“That should be easy enough, I will have Maester Luwin send you the papers regarding the shifts, and perhaps you can be with the prince when my children give him the tour in the morning,” replied Ned easily. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

“I apologize my lord, but unfortunately there are a two items of note that King Rhaegar thought should be kept between you and myself, and Jon when he is old enough,” said Ser Arthur. “The first is that we brought a dragon egg along with us, and the King has instructed that during his time here, that Jon should find a way to hatch it.”

“A dragon egg?” gasped Ned in surprise. That was not what he was expecting in the slightest.

“Indeed my lord. Unfortunately it means that the Prince must have access to everything in your castle’s library concerning dragons, and possibly magic.”

Ned sighed. “I am not sure if it is wise to have a dragon loose on my people, but I will allow this request,” he said in resignation. “And the other thing?”

Ser Arthur reached over his back and pulled the bundle off before laying it reverently on Ned’s desk. He pulled the string and the leathers fell away, revealing a longsword. The blade was clearly Valyrian steel, as it was smoky grey with even darker rippled patterns like disturbed water running along the unnaturally sharp blade, and was not as wide as most longswords were traditionally made, having been forged to suit a warrior woman. the crossguard was made of gold, and in the middle of the crossguard an elliptical-shaped ruby had been set. Leather the colour of the blackest night encased the grip, and the pommel resembled golden flames. Ned recognized it as Dark Sister, the second ancestral sword of House Targaryen. It was the same blade Rhaegar used to cut Robert Baratheon’s, Ned’s closest friend, head off at the battle of the Trident.

“Since Brynden Bloodraven gave this sword away when he was exiled to the Wall, Dark Sister had served as the Iron Throne Heir’s sword, while Blackfyre is wielded by the King,” said Ser Arthur reverently. “When Jon is old enough and deemed worthy, the duty of wielding this sword will fall to him until he becomes King of the Seven Kingdoms, and it will be passed onto his son.”

“Why are you telling me this? I already know the history of the Targaryen swords,” said Ned, feeling his impatience slipping slightly.

Ser Arthur gave him a pitying look. “I know that you do not like Dark Sister, as it was the blade that killed Robert Baratheon,” he said. “I am hoping, however, that its presence here in Winterfell will not cause a rift between yourself and the Prince.”

It was true, Ned did hate that sword. It had been coated in the blood of his best friend and had brought about the end of what Ned thought at the time was a just rebellion. Dark Sister had brought about more pain and suffering in its history than even its sister sword Blackfyre.

“I will not hold this sword against the Prince,” swore Ned. “He is not to blame for anything.”

Ser Arthur nodded his head at Ned’s oath, before he asked to be dismissed so that he could attend to Jon’s needs. Ned let the knight go, and once Ser Arthur had wrapped Dark Sister back up in the leathers and the door closed behind him and Ned was alone, he buried his head in his hands.

* * *

 

The feast that had been held to welcome the Targaryen Prince was well underway, and as usual Ned felt uncomfortable as ever. But the tension rolling off the lords that had come at his invitation made everything feel even more awkward.

It was no secret that Ned’s bannermen hated the Targaryens, and despised Jon because of what he supposedly represented; the death of Ned’s father and older brother, and Lyanna’s eloping that sent Robert off to war to bring her back. Almost all the Northern lords were glaring at Jon’s back with contempt, and Ned clenched his fists in anger under the table. Luckily for Ned, Ser Arthur was keeping an eye on the lords, and every time one of them caught Ser Arthur staring, they would lower their heads in embarrassment and look away from the prince. Ned could not blame them, the Sword of the Morning was one of the most famous knights in all of Westerosi history, and for good reason.

Ned’s three eldest children were all making an attempt to include Jon in their conversations, and often asked him questions about life in the capital. Ned could not hear what was being said exactly, but it seemed that Jon looked more at ease than he had seen him all day. He did not smile often and his face remained as somber as ever, but there was a light in the boy’s dark grey eyes that showed his true emotion. Ned also noticed how Jon seemed to pay extra attention to Sansa, but Ned thought nothing of it until Cat rested a hand on his forearm.

“The prince seems quite fond of our daughter,” she commented.

“He and Arya do seem to get along,” agreed Ned, just as he watched as Arya said something that made Jon laugh loudly, and the sound brought a warm feeling to his heart.

“I was talking about Sansa,” corrected Cat, and she gave Ned a look that he did not entirely like. “Come now Ned. Surely you do not see the way the boy looks at her.”

“With fondness?” suggested Ned in confusion. He really had no idea where Cat was going with this.

“He is always looking at her when she’s not looking,” said Cat, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “And she does the same with him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Ned.

“I am thinking that a betrothal between the Prince and our daughter could be on the table,” answered Cat.

Ned promptly spat out the ale he had been drinking, drawing the attention of several guests and he looked at his wife incredulously.

“A betrothal?” he hissed to Cat.

“They are obviously enamored with each other,” said Cat, appearing unbothered by Ned's lack of table manners.

“How do you know that?”

“Women’s intuition Ned. Besides, you have never been the most observant person when it comes to things like this.” Ned scoffed and took another swig of his ale. “I’m not saying we should suggest it to the King now, they are both far too young for that right now,” said Cat placatingly. “I’m just suggesting that we could encourage this into something more.”

“You’re right, it is far too early to be choosing their fates for them,” grunted Ned.

“You cannot deny that it would be advantageous for both parties,” said Cat. “The North would earn some of the respect it lost when it rebelled against the Targaryens and we would have a Stark for a queen, and the King would be more able to secure the North’s allegiance to House Targaryen.”

Ned could not deny Cat’s words, for she was always smarter at the Game of Thrones than he could ever hope to be. So instead he repeated that they were both too young for a betrothal to be considered, but now that Catelyn had pointed it out to him, he could not deny the wide-eyed stares that his daughter and nephew would sneak each other had a deeper meaning.

**CATELYN**

“How do you find the prince?” asked Cat as she ran the brush through Sansa’s hair. Robb, Sansa and Bran had both inherited the Tully look, with their red hair and bright blue eyes, but it was Sansa whose hair shone the brightest. Kissed by fire, Ned had said to her once upon a time. Even at only seven years of age, Sansa strived to be the epitome of the perfect lady. Ever gracious and courteous, she loved her songs and tales, her dolls and dresses. She still possessed the chubbiness of a young child, Catelyn could see that Sansa would become a great beauty in later years.

“He is... not exactly like I thought he would be,” admitted Sansa.

Catelyn frowned, and was thankful that her daughter could not see. “How so?” asked Catelyn. _Perhaps I read into this all wrong._

“He seems sad Mama. Why does he always look so sad? Is the capital not a place of songs? Where handsome knights fall in love with fair maidens?” said Sansa sadly.

“I do not know,” said Cat slowly. “But I have heard of some of the things that have happened to the prince.”

“Like what Mama?” implored Sansa, and Catelyn hesitated. Sansa was a gentle soul, truly, and Cat feared that her daughter would begin crying.

“A great many people blame Jon for the mistakes his parents made, such as Robert’s Rebellion,” said Cat. “He has always carried that burden, which has only been added to the responsibility of being the Crown Prince, the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Oh Mother!” gasped Sansa, and she turned around to look at Cat with wide eyes. “Surely that is not true!”

“I am not sure it is, but King Rhaegar wanted to send his eldest son here to learn more about his mother’s people better. Can I trust you to help the prince with that?” Cat gave Sansa a stern look.

“Of course!” exclaimed Sansa enthusiastically. “I will teach him everything about the North!”

“Of course you will,” said Cat, and she leant down to place a gentle kiss on Sansa’s forehead before telling the little lady to hop into bed. Cat tucked Sansa into her furs snugly, and sang a song to help her sleep. When Sansa’s eyes closed shut, Cat left her eldest daughter’s bedchambers and went to the one she shared with Ned.

Her husband was already in bed, but his upper body was propped up against the wooden back of the bed. He smiled warmly when Cat entered, and when she climbed under the furs, Ned wrapped his arms around her protectively. Cat couldn’t stop the sigh of content from escaping her mouth as she leaned into Ned’s embrace, and she snuggled in closer to him.

“How was Sansa?” asked Ned.

“She was well. I asked her what she thought of Jon,” answered Cat.

“Oh?”

“Her assessment of him was very similar to ours, I am afraid. She did however say that she wanted to help cheer him up.”

Ned chuckled. “If anyone can do that it is Sansa,” he said proudly.

“How fared your meeting with your bannermen?” asked Cat, as she rolled over to look at her husband’s face. Ned’s face darkened though.

“They are unhappy that I agreed to foster my nephew within these walls. Dacey Mormont and Wyman Manderly were quick to warm to the idea of sheltering the prince for ten years, but others, including Robett Glover and Rickard Karstark have made their anger known to me,” seethed Ned. “Roose Bolton even suggested that I hold Jon hostage against the crown.”

“That man has alway been more trouble than he’s worth,” hissed Cat.

“I will have to keep an eye on Lord Bolton in the future,” agreed Ned.

“Enough of this talk Ned, I am cold, and I wish to be warmed by my husband,” said Cat with a devilish smirk. Ned growled and Cat squealed in delight as he shifted over on top of her.


	2. The Dragons Fly Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skip to five years...

**ROBB**

“But Mother! Do we have to travel all the way to White Harbour for a stupid wedding?” complained Arya for what must have been the millionth time.

From behind Arya, Robb and Jon shared a grin with each other. They had been traveling South down to White Harbour after being invited by Lord Wyman Manderly to the wedding of his daughter Wynafryd and Cley Cerwyn. Robb shouldn’t have been surprised by the Stark’s invitation, for it was his Lord Father that had negotiated the marriage contract. Being invited wasn’t the problem. It was the long, arduous travel that was grating on everyone’s nerves. If he didn’t ride a horse every chance he got back home, Robb feared that his inner thighs would have been chafed so badly they would be raw for the rest of his life. He was faring better than Sansa though, for she often complained about her sore legs and declared her fear that she would not be able to dance come the wedding. She would stop however, when Jon would lean in and whisper something in her ear that would have her blushing, but the smile would never leave her face for the rest of her day.

Those thoughts had Robb now staring at his cousin now. Jon was nothing like he thought he would be when they had first met five years ago. He had wrongfully assumed that Jon would be loud and arrogant, full of boasting and tales of wonder. The truth was that Jon was the most humble person Robb had ever met, and also the most shy. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and he smiled even less. The only people who seemed capable of cheering the young prince were the Stark children, especially Sansa. She could simply walk into the same room as Jon and instantly his whole countenance would light up. It annoyed Robb and Arya some, but so long as it kept Jon from falling into the abyss of depression, he was not complaining too much.

Sansa herself had changed more than anyone else since Jon’s arrival to the North. Her mind had been consumed with stories of noble knights and fair maidens, of songs of romance and battles for a lady’s hand. Naturally, she had been enamored with Jon, but he had opened her eyes to some of the harsh realities of the capital.

Robb had not meant to eavesdrop that day in the library when he was ten and two years old, but he could not stop himself. He had hidden behind one of the bookshelves, and through a gap, he could see Jon had been reading a book about the dragons of Old Valyria. That was when Sansa had stumbled into the library as well.

“Oh! Forgive me Jon, I did not see you there,” said Sansa in surprise when she spotted Jon studying his book intently. Jon had looked up from his book and given her a gentle smile.

“It is alright, my lady,” said Jon.

“I hope I am not disturbing you. If I am, I shall come back later,” said Sansa and she turned around to leave, but Jon’s voice had stopped her.

“No! I could use the company,” he had insisted. Sansa had smiled and grabbed a book, the title of which Robb had not seen, and sat down opposite Jon. There had been silence for a time, and Robb was just preparing to leave when Sansa spoke up.

“What are you reading?” she had asked.

“How my ancestors were first able to tame dragons,” answered Jon, his eyes never leaving the pages.

“Is there anything interesting?” she had pressed.

“Nothing about hatching dragons,” Jon had sighed, then his eyes widened and stammered, “I mean. I just find it interesting that uh... you know... dragons er...”

Sansa had laughed and waved off Jon’s attempt to explain himself. “It is fine, you do not have to tell me about it,” she soothed. She had then sighed wistfully. “I wish I could see a dragon. I have heard that they were the most majestic creatures in all of the known world.”

“They were also the most horrifying as well,” said Jon, and Robb had sensed that Jon was closing within himself again. “The skulls they hang in the great hall of the Red Keep are impressive, but they are also rather ugly. I do not think I would have liked to have seen one alive.”

“But surely you have dreamt of riding one, have you not?” said Sansa. “They would tell stories of Jaeherys Targaryen flying over his kingdom on a great white dragon-”

“Life is not a story Sansa,” Jon had snapped angrily. Robb sucked in a breath, waiting for Sansa’s reaction. Sansa had looked shaken by Jon’s outburst, and she tried to hide her dismay. Jon’s own face softened with remorse. “I’m sorry, I should not have spoken out like that to you, my lady,” said Jon.

“But you meant it, didn’t you?” said Sansa, and she had looked at Jon with her wide blue eyes.

“My time in King’s Landing taught me that the songs and stories told by Old Nan are just that; songs and stories Sansa,” said Jon so quietly Robb had to lean forward to hear. “My life there was not the best. The only people who kept me happy there were Ser Arthur, Daenerys and my father, but my father was usually too busy to have much to do with me.”

“I am sorry, I didn’t know,” said Sansa.

“It is alright. Really,” said Jon, and he had then reached over to grab Sansa’s hand.

Robb did not stay any longer, but ever since then he had seen that Sansa had taken a more realistic approach to life. He also noticed that she spent more time with Jon as well, whether she was watching him in the training yards or lounging together by the hearth, both engrossed in reading or she would be engrossed in Jon’s tales of the Red Keep, of the dragon skulls and the names and stories behind them.

Robb was brought back to the present when Arya started complaining again, and little baby Rickon started crying in Mother’s arms. It was just as well that the Stark household, plus Jon and Theon, were approaching the gates, because Father was starting to look frustrated. They were greeted warmly by Lord Wyman’s sons, whose names Robb had forgotten despite having been grilled all of this in his lessons with Father, and they were escorted through White Harbour to the keep.

Robb could see anger in their eyes when they bowed to Jon, and he looked at Jon to see his reaction, but as always Jon’s face was unreadable. The Starks were given their own tower to stay in during the week before the wedding, and Mother commanded that all the children to wash up before the feast that night. Bran and Arya groaned, and Robb felt a little miffed about that as well. Fourteen years old, nearly a man grown, and he was still being ordered about by his mother.

“Oh stop complaining Robb,” said Jon mirthfully as the two washed up.

“Easy for you to say. Mother coddles you more than Rickon!” snapped Robb, but Jon only laughed, probably because it was true. Mother doted on Jon more than any of her own children, and she was always there to help him with anything he needed. Robb could not help but feel a little jealous, but he understood why. Jon had never felt a mother’s love, and Robb’s own was trying her best to make up for that.

After they had freshened up and were ready for the feast, Mother came in and told them that Robb would be escorting Lord Manderly’s second daughter Wylla down to the feast, while Jon would be taking Sansa. Jon seemed pleased at that, but Robb huffed in annoyance. Of course he would be taking the green-haired Manderly girl. She was fair to look upon, once you got past the strange hair colour, and she possessed a keen mind and sharp tongue. Jon and Sansa were positively beaming when Robb sneaked a glance over his shoulder, and he wished that he could be as happy as those two. Behind them, Bran and Arya followed closely and looked to be in the middle of a quiet but heated conversation with each other, but they quickly stopped when Mother shot a glare their way.

Wyman Manderly, a man as large as an elephant and almost as loud as the Greatjon Umber, welcomed his guests to the feast, and with a loud clap of his fat hands, everyone dug into their food. Robb was seated between Smalljon Umber and Harrion Karstark, while sitting opposite him was Domeric Bolton. Up at the main table, Father sat on Lord Manderly’s right while Jon sat on his left, being the prince of the realm. Robb shot Jon an apologetic look, which Jon returned with a roll of his eyes.

Soon enough though, Robb’s worry for his cousin faded away as he chatted with his fellow lordlings. As the night wore on, several tables were moved out of the way of the centre of the hall in order for there to be dancing, and the minstrels brought out their instruments and began playing. Robb asked for the hand of Wylla Manderly first, and he escorted her onto the dance floor. They danced for a little while, before another man came to claim her hand, and Robb was off in search of another partner. He danced with several ladies before he found himself dancing with Wylla again.

“How do you like the feast so far, my lord?” asked Wylla.

“Delicious,” said Robb. “The seafood here is exquisite as always. You seemed to be enjoying yourself as well.”

“I was,” agreed Wylla, “though it is hard to maintain a straight face when Smalljon Umber keeps stepping on your feet.”

“I shall try to not do the same with you then,” laughed Robb. Wylla smiled at that, before her eyes moved to look over Robb’s shoulder. Robb himself turned around to find Jon standing to the side, his face impassive, but the prince’s eyes were locked onto Sansa as she danced with some little lordling. Ser Arthur stood behind Jon, ever the dutiful Kingsguard knight. By the look of it, they had been there for a while.

“He is quite the somber one, isn’t he?” commented Wylla.

“Indeed my lady. He has more Stark blood in him than his own cousins, save perhaps for Arya,” said Robb. He watched as Jon’s face quickly turned into a scowl when Sansa accepted the hand of Domeric Bolton, before he stormed out of the hall. Robb sighed. “Forgive me my lady. I fear I must rescue the prince before he falls into despair,” said Robb dryly before placing a kiss on Wylla’s hand and leaving the hall to follow Jon.

He found him brooding outside on the balcony. The wind was blowing gently, and Robb could smell the sea salt as it billowed through his jerkin. “Jon?” said Robb, and Jon turned around quickly with surprise on his face.

“Robb? What are you doing out here?” said Jon.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” replied Robb, and he came to stand beside his cousin. “What ails you?”

“It’s nothing.” When Robb gave Jon a disbelieving look, Jon sighed. “I am just acting a fool is all.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with my dear sister dancing with the Bolton heir, would it?” teased Robb, and Jon sputtered indignantly, which only caused Robb to start laughing. “Easy my prince. It is only one dance.”

“I know that!” snapped Jon. “But I was about to work up the courage to ask her for a dance when Domeric Bolton stole her away.”

“They’re not wildlings,” joked Robb, but when he saw Jon’s glare, he sobered up. “Sorry.” He grasped Jon by the shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Come back inside. Maybe Sansa will not have a partner, and you can sweep her off her feet.”

“I’m not a good dancer,” complained Jon, and Robb could hear that Northern accent more prominently, which sounded a lot better than the awful accent he had when he first came North.

“I really don’t think Sansa will care if you’re the one stepping on her feet,” said Robb pointedly.

Jon smiled some at that, and with another pat on the shoulder, Robb directed his cousin back into the hall.

**JON**

“I am hers, and she is mine.”

“I am his, and he is mine.”

Jon gave a small smile and clapped along with everyone else as Wynafryd and Cley sealed their marriage with a kiss. On his right, Robb was smiling widely at the new couple while on his left Sansa was crying tears of joy. Jon handed her a handkerchief and she gratefully accepted, dabbing the tears away from her eyes before she gave it back to Jon.

The newly weds walked down the aisle, hand in hand and blushing furiously at the cheering and wishes of good fortune. That made Jon smile even more. It was rare these days to witness a marriage where both man and woman were fond of one another beforehand, and Jon could only wish them good fortune in the years to come. Lord Wyman bellowed out that it was time for the feast, and all the guests exited the sept and into the main hall, where a feast even greater than the one welcoming the Starks to White Harbour had been prepared.

Once again, Jon was to sit with the other lords and ladies, away from his cousins who he so desperately wanted to be seated with. But because of his status as Prince of the Realm, it was his duty to be seated at the high table of every feast, unless his father were there with him.

Rhaegar. The memory of his father left a bad taste in Jon’s mouth. He rarely, if ever, sent a raven to Winterfell. At first Jon had chalked it up to the King simply being too busy, but after a year of living in Winterfell he realised thanks to a letter from Dany that Rhaegar simply did not wish to speak to his son. The few times he did were not to ask how his life had been, but rather to ask if he had made progress with hatching his dragon egg.

The dragon egg that Rhaegar had somehow procured out of thin air. It currently resided in his guest chambers, secured in a chest that only Arthur had access to, for he kept the key on his person at all times. According to Arthur, Rhaegar had another two eggs back in King’s Landing, one for himself and the other for Dany. Apparently one of them was a creamy white egg with gold flecks, while the other was green with bronze flecks. Jon had been given the black egg with blood-red swirls over the shell.

Rhaegar’s letters to him angered him greatly, for nothing Jon had tried in bringing dragons back into the world had worked, and he had learned so much of them Lord Tyrion would mockingly comment that he would now be a dragon expert. He had looked into White Harbour’s library a little, but with all the preparations for the wedding he had little time to properly investigate. Every time Jon would send a letter back to King’s Landing saying that he was still working on their ‘little project,’ the only response he would receive was silence for months at a time.

He was jolted from his reverie, or brooding as Robb like to tease him of, when he heard a startled shriek from down the hall. Sansa’s face was covered with some sort of paste, and she was glaring angrily at Arya, who had a look of faux innocence.

“Arya!” screamed Sansa, and there were several roars of laughter from some of the more drunken men. Robb too was laughing until he looked up at the high table to see Uncle Ned, Aunt Catelyn and Jon all glaring down at him. Robb quickly swallowed his amusement and jumped up, grabbed Arya and took her out of the hall. Jon turned from where Robb and Arya had disappeared to see Sansa, who looked on the verge of tears while Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel tried their best to console her.

Jon leaned slightly over the table so he could look and Uncle Ned properly. “Lord Stark. If I may?” asked Jon, making a gesture towards Sansa.

“Of course Your Grace,” said Uncle Ned with a nod, while Aunt Catelyn smiled in approval.

Jon quickly jumped out of his chair and descended down to the rest of the guests, avoiding the drunk men and women. He had to politely ask a kitchen wench who was trying to get his attention to step aside, and once he did so he made a beeline for Sansa.

“My lady?” said Jon, once he was within earshot. All three girls looked up at the newcomer in surprise, and while Beth and Jeyne started to giggle behind their hands, Sansa would not meet his eyes and her face turned red with embarrassment. “If it would please you, may I give you this to help?” Jon continued, and he pulled out his handkerchief, embroidered with the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

“Oh. I simply couldn’t! I fear I might ruin-” began Sansa.

“I insist,” interrupted Jon, and he held out a hand for her to take. Sansa’s blush deepened further as she took his offered hand and Jon led them both outside. Once Jon was certain that they were alone, he turned to face Sansa and used his handkerchief to wipe away the food still plastered on her face.

“Jon, this is not proper,” complained Sansa quietly.

“It was not proper of Arya to embarrass her older sister in front of most of the Houses of the North,” Jon shot back.

“I could have cleaned it myself,” she insisted. Jon smiled a little bit at that.

“I know, but Beth and Jeyne looked like they were doing a horrible job at trying to cheer you up,” he said wryly.

Sansa’s face lit up. “And what makes you think you could do any better?” she challenged.

“Well, for one thing, you’re smiling again,” pointed out Jon, and he laughed when Sansa tried to school her expression into a mask of indifference and failed.

“Thank you Jon,” she said gratefully.

“It was nothing my lady,” said Jon humbly. Sansa grabbed his arm and squeezed gently.

“It wasn’t nothing. It was almost like those stories I used to believe in,” insisted Sansa.

“You mean the ones where the knight would come and save the maiden from danger?” laughed Jon, and Sansa joined with him. “Some of them were real, you know.”

“Which ones?” asked Sansa.

“The story of Aemon the Dragonknight. According to Rhaegar, he was the truest knight that had ever lived, and his doomed love for his sister was so great that he cried at her wedding.

“Some good does come out of life, good worthy of tales and songs to be heard all across the world. But we cannot know what good is without knowing evil, and unfortunately King’s Landing is full of vipers.”

“That sounds horrible,” said Sansa quietly.

“It is,” agreed Jon. “We should probably head back inside,” he continued when they had both settled down and he could hear music starting to play inside. “I know how much you love dancing.”

“And I know how much you hate it,” countered Sansa.

Jon grimaced. “I don’t hate it, I’m just not good at it is all,” he defended.

“I was only teasing you.”

“Right.” Sansa then looked at Jon impatiently.

“Well? Are you going to escort me in like the gallant prince you are?” she practically demanded of him.

Jon snorted in amusement, but acquiesced and offered Sansa his arm for her to take. She smiled brightly at him as he led her back into the hall, where the dancing was well underway. Many of the younger lords and ladies were on the floor, while their fathers were laughing uproariously as they drank their ale deeply. Many of the lords’ wives were socializing together, except for Uncle Eddard and Aunt Catelyn, who remained in their seats, but watched the whole events unfolding before them with fond smiles. Jon caught Aunt Catelyn’s eye, and the Lady of Winterfell raised a questioning eyebrow. Jon smiled back and nodded his head, and Aunt Catelyn returned the smile, while Uncle Eddard raised a goblet to him.

“Shall we dance?” suggested Jon to Sansa next to him. She smiled sweetly and nodded, and Jon took her hand while he led her into the middle of the dance floor. It was a simple Northern dance, one that was easy, even for Jon to follow. He was careful to not step on Sansa’s feet, and thankfully he only did so three times, but Sansa seemed to not mind. They had danced together for three songs before Robb intervened and asked to dance with his sister. Jon kissed Sansa’s hand and bid the both of them goodnight before he retired from the wedding feast, with Arthur following closely behind. Jon originally intended to head straight to his bedchambers, but changed his mind at the last second and headed instead to the library.

“You really should head to bed Jon. You can do plenty of studying for your egg tomorrow,” advised Arthur.

“I know that,” said Jon, “but I just want to have a closer look at one of the tomes I was reading earlier today.”

“Very well. But remember, the sooner you go to bed, the sooner you can wake up to do more studying.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No. But better me to warn you than have the Lady Stark catching you here at an ungodly hour.”

Jon snorted at that, and picked out the tome he had been reading through earlier in the day before the wedding. It was on Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror’s black dragon. It did not provide much information on hatching dragons, except for the description of Balerion’s egg shell. According to the information provided, Balerion’s egg was black with red swirls, and Jon thought of his own dragon egg sitting in the chest in his bedchambers. There was little else the volume could offer Jon, so he put it away and grabbed another. That too had nothing, and the next, and the next before Jon growled in frustration and stalked off to bed.

* * *

 

The next day Jon spent most of his time in the library, and ignored all of the invitations extended to him by either one of the Starks or another lord who wanted Jon to get to know their daughter. He let Ser Arthur do the talking, as he was much better with words than Jon could ever hope to be while he combed through any and every book on dragons he could.

He would jot down notes that he found worthwhile every now and again, but the spare piece of parchment he had was not even halfway full. Just when he was about to give it up as a lost cause, Jon stumbled on a side note in one of the older volumes regarding the Lord of Light R’hllor. Curious, Jon began to read through it.

_It is believed that the worship of the Lord of Light began in Essos, where goat herders once worshipped dragons. The sacrifices offered to the Lord of Light through burnings are believed to have stemmed from the supposed method of hatching dragon eggs, a life for a life with fire and blood._

“Fire and blood,” muttered Jon. Those were House Targaryen’s words. Jon often thought of it as a promise of sorts or a threat, but reading this, made Jon begin to wonder that it could mean something else.

Jon marked the page and closed it, before he took it up to his chambers. He placed the book on his desk and then grabbed the chest before settling it on the ground at the foot of his bed. He quickly raced over to the window and closed the shutters, before he went back over to the chest and kneeled before it.

“Arthur, hand me the key,” he ordered, extending his hand out without even bothering to look at Arthur. The knight handed the key to Jon, and he roughly shoved it into the keyhole and turned it. The chest clicked as it unlocked, and Jon opened up the chest to reveal the black and red egg.

_Fire and Blood..._

“Arthur, stoke the fires,” he said. Jon waited for the room to be illuminated with warmth and orange light before he carefully lifted the egg out of the chest and placed it in the middle of the fire. Nothing happened for a moment, then another moment before Jon began to get frustrated and he pulled it out. He could feel the beating of a strong heart inside the egg, but that was no surprise to Jon as he had experienced similar reactions before in his experiments.

_Fire and Blood..._

Jon’s head snapped up in realisation. “Pass me a dagger please.”

“A dagger?” said Arthur in confusion.

“Just do it.” Arthur nodded and he grabbed the steel dagger off the table and handed it to Jon. Before the knight could react, Jon sliced his palm open with the blade, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Jon!” yelled Arthur, but Jon waved him off.

“Wait a minute,” he ordered, and he ran his bloodied hand over the egg, smearing the black shell with blood.

_Fire and Blood..._

He picked up the egg again and put in back inside the hearth, and let the flames consume it. To Jon and Arthur’s surprise, the flames rose up and completely engulfed the egg in fire, and Jon had to step away, for the heat was so great. He shielded his eyes from the bright light, and the flames turned from orange, to black, then red and back to orange. The flames died down and the light dimmed, and Jon saw an egg in the fires no longer.

Instead, a reptilian creature with black scales, molten red eyes and red wings no bigger than a household cat sat in the flames, its tail curled around itself. Jon knelt down closer to the hearth and the creature looked up at him, red eyes boring into dark grey.

“By the Old Gods and the New,” muttered Arthur.

The dragon let out a tiny screech, announcing the return of its kind into the world.

**DAENERYS**

The sun was high on the horizon and the gardens quiet, just the way Daenerys liked it. It gave her the peace needed to properly think about things, such as her green and bronze dragon egg, which made her think of her older brother Rhaegar, which made her think of Jon.

Jon. Now that was a subject she thought of almost every day. She missed him, more than she would admit, though there was no doubt in her mind that Rhaegar knew, or at least suspected. Time and time again she had pleaded with the King to bring Jon home to King’s Landing, and every time she was rebuffed.

“He is getting to know his mother’s family,” he had said every time. “You and Jon will have plenty of time to catch up when he returns, and when he sits on the Iron Throne as King.”

Daenerys did not want to just ‘catch up’ with Jon, she wanted to hold him in her arms, to show him just how much she missed him. Dany was interrupted from her thoughts when a messenger arrived, telling her that the King had requested her presence. She thanked the messenger and turned in the opposite direction of where she was going, and walked back into Maegor’s Holdfast.

Ser Barristan followed behind closely, and when they had successfully navigated their way through the dark corridors up into Rhaegar’s solar, she knocked on the door as courtesy dictated.

“Come in,” said a muffled voice. Dany opened the door to reveal Rhaegar, standing over a table. In his hand he held a letter, and Dany wondered if it was from Jon. Next to Rhaegar stood Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, clad in his golden armour and white cloak just like Ser Barristan.

“Daenerys,” said Rhaegar by way of greeting, and he placed the letter down on the table.

“I will guard outside, Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan.

“No, stay. This concerns you as well,” said Rhaegar, and Ser Barristan nodded, though he looked a little confused as to the matter. “I received good news from my son,” continued Rhaegar.

“Jon wrote to you?” said Dany, feeling a little surprised. Normally he only wrote to his father when Rhaegar wrote to him first, so Jon being the one to write first must have meant something important.

“Indeed. He has successfully hatched his egg,” said Rhaegar. Silence followed his announcement for a long time. Dany felt disbelief, confusion and pride all warring in her mind, and when she looked at Barristan, her guard looked just as surprised as she felt.

“H-He hatched it?” said Dany incredulously.

“How?” added Barristan.

“Read for yourself,” said Rhaegar, and he slid the letter over for Dany to read. She picked it up tentatively and held it our so that Barristan could read alongside her.

_King Rhaegar. It has been some months since I last wrote to you concerning the project you have tasked me with. I have been in White Harbour for the past week, and by the time this raven arrives to you I will be heading back to Winterfell with the rest of the Starks._

_I have exhausted every book in Winterfell’s library concerning the subject of our project, and I thought it prudent to investigate White Harbour’s library. While there one book mentioned the words of our House, ‘Fire and Blood.’_

_That is the key to accomplishing our project. When I read that, I immediately sought out the gift you gave me when I departed from King’s Landing, and placed it in the fire of my hearth. This whole time, the key to restoring our House’s legacy lay in our words._

_Much to Ser Arthur’s annoyance, I sliced my hand and used the blood to coat my gift with it, and now we shall fly again._

_My gift looks very much like the Conqueror’s own, and I have named it Syndorion in honor of its colour._

_I hope Dany and yourself will be able to find success in your projects as I have. Your son, Jon Targaryen._

“I don’t believe it. The dragons have returned,” muttered Barristan in awe.

“Fire and Blood,” said Dany, looking up from Jon’s letter to stare at Rhaegar.

“Jon was smart to figure it out,” said Rhaegar. “The key to resurrecting the dragons lay in our words.”

“We should hatch the other two eggs as soon as possible! With three dragons, our claim to the Iron Throne would become more secure than it has ever been,” urged Dany.

Rhaegar frowned at Dany’s words and he sighed.

“The princess is right,” said Ser Gerold. “With dragons at your side, those who think your family is weak would never dare to speak out against you.”

Rhaegar ran his hand through his long, silvery hair and sighed again. “Very well,” he said. “Daenerys, go fetch your egg and bring it back here. We shall do it together.”

Dany nodded excitedly and practically ran out of the King’s solar, with Barristan following closely behind. She made it to her bedchambers in record time, and quickly yanked open the chest containing her green and bronze dragon egg. Barristan came over to Dany and took it from her hands before carefully wrapping it in a cloth to conceal it, before he escorted Dany out of her chambers and back to Rhaegar’s solar.

When they got back they found Rhaegar and Ser Gerold both standing in front of the hearth and the fire stoked. On the table rested Rhaegar’s cream and gold egg, and Barristan unveiled Dany’s egg and placed it next to Rhaegar’s. Rhaegar moved over to the table and pulled a dagger from his belt and cut his palm open, then ran the injured hand over his egg, staining the white egg with fresh blood. He cleaned the dagger before handing it over to Dany, and she copied Rhaegar’s actions.

“Now the fire,” said Rhaegar quietly. Dany nodded and grabbed her egg, then placed it gently into the middle of the fire, and Rhaegar placed his next to hers. The wait could not have been more than a few minutes, but to Dany it felt like forever. Behind Dany and Rhaegar, Ser Gerold and Barristan shuffled nervously on their feet, glancing between the fire and the two Targaryens every now and again.

Suddenly the fire grew dramatically and Dany took a step back in fright as the fires consumed the eggs, before they simmered away. Where the eggs once lay, two dragons had replaced them. One of the dragons was covered in scales that glistened like emeralds, and the membrane of its wings and the little bumps where horns would eventually grow were bronze in colour. The other dragon was a creamy-white scaled creature with golden wings and studs. Both let out shrieks to announce their births, and Dany and Rhaegar both shared significant looks with each other.

With three dragons, the Targaryens’ hold over the Seven Kingdoms had never been so secure.

**NED**

The Godswood of Winterfell was the only place where Ned had ever been able to truly feel at peace. Cleaning Ice with a whetstone while sitting on a boulder that lay near the roots of the heart tree, for Ned it was his version of praying to the Old Gods. On this day Ned was praying simply for some peace and quiet. Since Jon had hatched his dragon egg, a beast he named Syndorion, which Jon explained was Valyrian for ‘shadow,’ Ned had not had a quiet moment. The dragon was loud and caused constant uproar, frightening the farm animals and sending the horses into a frenzy constantly, not to mention his children who always wanted to play with it despite Ned, Cat and Jon’s warnings.

The dragon truly was Balerion reborn. In the time since it was hatched in White Harbour to the two sennights it took to come back to Winterfell, it had doubled in size. When it was born, it was no larger than a house cat, and was now longer than a hound. When Ned had ordered that Syndorion be placed in an enclosure, Jon had protested vehemently.

“Locking dragons away is what killed them off in the first place,” his nephew had said. “Dragons are meant to be free creatures, like birds.”

The compromise was putting the dragon in the Godswood, which is where it lived to this day, a moon’s turn since its hatching. Syndorion was currently hanging upside down in the heart tree, its long tail wrapped around a branch, and was looking down at Ned in a way that made him grasp the hilt of Ice protectively. Syndorion hissed at Ned, the red frills that ran along his neck and tail bristling in a threatening manner before he curled himself up on the branch and jumped, spreading his wings and flying to the nearest tree.

“He does not seem to like you very much,” said a voice, making Ned look away from Syndorion. He spotted Sansa, her arm wrapped around Jon’s coming towards him. Sansa was smiling softly at her father, while Jon was giving a scathing look up at his dragon.

“I am a wolf. It is not surprising that the dragon does not like me,” replied Ned.

“He likes me,” said Sansa, and she let go of Jon’s arm to sit next to her father, while Jon went over to the tree and began to speak in High Valyrian to Syndorion.

“I imagine that has to do with his master’s fondness of you,” commented Ned, and he grinned when Sansa’s alabaster face turned red. “What brings you here sweetling?”

“I wished to pray before the heart tree, and Jon wanted to see Syndorion,” answered Sansa.

Ned raised an eyebrow. “I thought you followed the Seven?” he said questioningly.

“I do, but I also follow the Gods of my father and Jon,” said Sansa, and her face burned red again.

 _I see now,_ thought Ned. He leaned forward so that Sansa could only hear him. “How goes your friendship with the prince?”

Ned saw the way that his eldest daughter’s face instantly lit up, and his heart clenched slightly at that.

“He is a good person, the prince,” said Sansa. “He reminds me of you a lot actually.”

“How so?”

“He is often quiet and rarely smiles, and he had this sadness in his eyes. He has told me that he is angry with his father at the moment.”

Ned frowned. He was aware of the strained relationship between Jon and King Rhaegar, and while he had done his best to make sure that Jon tried to stay on good relations with his father, he could not help but hope that the prince chose to remain in Winterfell forever. It was a foolish dream, as Jon was the heir to the Seven Kingdoms.

“I am aware of this as well. What has Jon told you of it though?” asked Ned.

Sansa sighed. “He is angry because his father asked him to keep his dragon in an enclosure, but Jon refuses because of the dragon histories he has read up on. He said that the King and Princess Daenerys have placed their dragons in the dragon pit,” she explained.

Ned chanced a peek over to Jon, who was now playing with Syndorion in the snow-covered ground. The dragon was letting out short breaths of fire and was crawling around Jon’s upper body, and Jon was laughing while he talked in High Valyrian to his dragon.

“Dragons are like wolves in that way,” said Ned in a low voice. “They are beasts that do not belong in cages, but rather to be free where they belong.”

“Jon thinks so as well,” agreed Sansa.

“You seem to hold Jon in very high esteem,” he pointed out. When he saw the way that Sansa looked over at Jon, Ned’s mind saw something else entirely. He saw a younger Catelyn, staring over at a younger Ned, and he realised the depths of Sansa’s feeling towards Jon. But does he feel the same way?


	3. The King's Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another time skip. An execution, the wolves come to Winterfell, the King arrive in the North, and a betrothal is made. A gift is given to the Prince, and a confrontation.

**JON**

Jon remembered the first time he saw an execution. He was seven years old and still living in King’s Landing, and Rhaegar had sentenced a man accused of serial raping and murdering to a beheading. Of course, in the South Rhaegar had the King’s Justice, Ser Ilyn Payne to remove the man’s head.

Here though, in the North, they lived by the Old Way. The man who passes the sentence swings the sword.

Lord Stark’s bannermen had captured a deserter to the Night’s Watch, and he, along with Jon, Robb and Bran had set out to see to the North’s justice. They found the deserter on a hill, and he had been held down over a log, which would be used as the chopping block. High above them, Syndorion flew, and he let out a screech at the potential meal he was getting.

In the five years since his hatching, Syndorion had grown to a massive size. He was now too large to live inside Winterfell’s Godswood, but Jon had found him a cave to live in ten miles from Winterfell. Syndorion was large enough that Jon could ride on his back, and as everyone had told Jon time and time again, Syndorion was Balerion reborn.

He was enormous, able to eat an auroch in two bites easily. When he flew, his wingspan blotted out the sun, and on this day Syndorion’s flying was creating powerful gusts of wind that caused the Northmen’s cloaks to billow.

The Night’s Watch deserter’s attention was on the black and red dragon as he flew overhead. Theon Greyjoy handed Uncle Ned his Valyrian greatsword Ice, and the Lord of Winterfell drew the sword from its scabbard. The deserter was pushed to his knees by two Stark soldiers, and Uncle Ned placed the tip of the greatsword on the ground and said a prayer to the Old Gods.

Jon stood in between Robb and Bran, and when he saw his younger cousin shudder slightly, he placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. Bran looked up and smiled at Jon before his eyes turned back to the execution that was about to take place.

“Do you have any last words?” Uncle Ned said, having finished his prayers and announcing the sentence.

“Don’t tell my family I died like this,” the deserter said. “Warn the King. I saw them, the White Walkers. They’re back. Tell the King, you need the dragons.” he looked directly at Jon when he said the last part, and Jon frowned. The way he spoke about the Others concerned him.

Ned scowled, but acquiesced to the deserter’s first request, before asking the man to kneel over the log. With a swing of Ice, the sword easily sliced through the meat and bone of the deserter’s neck, an his head falls into the grass with a dull thud. Blood spurted out of the neck, and Ice’s dark grey blade was stained with it as well.

“Syndorion!” called out Jon, and the black dragon let out a shriek that he had heard Jon’s summons.

All the men gathered took several steps backwards, except for Jon, and Syndorion landed right in front of the body, making the ground quake underneath his massive size. Without Jon even commanding him, Syndorion sucked in a deep breath and let out a great gust of fire, incinerating the log and burning the flesh of the deserter. Syndorion then craned his neck downwards and snapped up the body and shook it viciously before he swallowed it whole.

“Good boy,” said Jon, and when Syndorion craned his neck downwards so his huge head was eye level with Jon’s he petted the top of his spiked skull affectionately. Syndorion let out a contented chirp before he took off into the air again and circled over the heads of the prince, his bodyguard and the Northmen.

Jon walked back over to Uncle Ned and his cousins, who were flanked by Ser Rodrik and Jory Cassel. Uncle Ned was crouched down so that he was eye level with Bran and was speaking quietly to him.

“I don’t know how you control that thing,” said Robb with a shake of his head.

“I don’t. I’m pretty sure he only follows my orders because he wants to,” replied Jon, and Robb visibly paled at that.

“What was he saying about White Walkers?” asked Bran, just as everyone was climbing on top of their horses.

“Nothing, just the ramblings of a madman,” said Uncle Ned.

“I would not be so sure,” said Jon thoughtfully.

“The stories of the Others are just that Your Grace, stories.”

“People said that the dragons would never return, and now we have one currently flying over our heads and two more in King’s Landing,” countered Jon.

Uncle Ned harrumphed and urged his horse on, and Robb pulled his up beside Jon. “You’ve made him mad now,” said Robb.

“I was merely pointing out facts,” retorted Jon.

“Come now Jon, you really don’t believe what that man said do you?”

“I am not sure, but he looked directly at me when he spoke of the WHite Walkers,” answered Jon truthfully.

“I would not put too much thought into what a deserter of the Night’s Watch said Your Grace,” said Arthur.

“As always, I am grateful for your advice,” said Jon with a roll of his eyes. “But as the future King of Westeros, I must take all complaints of its people seriously, regardless of how absurd it sounds.”

“Even grumpkins and snarks?” questioned Arthur with an amused smirk.

Jon sighed. “Even grumpkins and snarks.”

Robb and Arthur both laughed at Jon while he grumbled and fell back into his usual broodiness. The entourage of men rode their horses down the hill and made to go back on the road when Syndorion roared and dove down into the forest. They all heard the loud splintering of wood, and Uncle Ned turned his horse around to look at Jon.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I think he found something,” answered Jon, and with a snap of his reins, he sent his black stallion sprinting off into the Wolfswood, ignoring the protests from his relatives and guard. Jon did not have to go too far into the forest to find Syndorion, thanks to his massive size and the devastation he left behind. Syndorion’s nose was close to the ground, and he was sniffing at something.

Jon came around and Syndorion moved out of the way so that Jon could see what had caught the dragon’s attention so raptly. It was a dead stag, missing pieces of flesh as well as an antler. It looked like a fresh kill, but whatever had hunted it was nowhere to be seen. Uncle Ned and his men came bustling into the improvised clearing that Syndorion had made, but paused when Syndorion whirled his head around and hissed at them.

“Easy,” said Jon, running a hand along the side of Syndorion’s black-scaled neck to soothe the beast. “Come uncle,” he said, beckoning his uncle and cousins over once Syndorion had calmed down enough for the others to get around him.

“Seven Hells,” swore Robb when Jon showed them the ruined corpse of the stag. “What could have done this?”

“A mountain lion?” suggested Theon.

“Mountain lions don’t live this far North,” said Jon, and he ignored the scathing look the ironborn gave him.

“Look here,” said Uncle Ned. Jon, Robb, Arthur, Theon and Bran all walked over to stand beside Ned, and he pointed to a trail of blood.

“We should follow it,” said Robb.

“I do not think that is a good idea, my lord,” said Arthur uncertainly.

“We should at least find out what it was that killed that stag,” said Jon. Everybody looked to Uncle Ned, who gave a curt nod. Jon made to lead the way, but Arthur held a hand in front of him to stop him.

“Let me at least try to do my job Your Grace,” said Arthur in an exasperated voice as he drew his sword. Jon smiled sheepishly and let Arthur take point.

“Stay here,” Jon told Syndorion, and the black dragon let out a snort before laying down on the ground. The group followed the blood trail for several minutes before the came across a creek.

“What on earth is that?!” exclaimed Arthur, and everyone peered over his shoulder to have a look. It was the largest wolf Jon had ever seen, as large as a pony with dark grey fur. It was also dead, with the stag’s missing antler jutting through its neck, where blood still dripped from.

“It’s a monster,” sneered Theon.

“It’s a direwolf,” corrected Uncle Ned, his voice filled with awe. “They haven’t been seen South of the Wall in over two hundred years.”

“Look!” shouted Bran, and he pointed to the dead wolf’s belly. Five pups were there, all of them trying to suckle on their mother’s teats for milk that had long since run dry. Jon walked over, against the discouragement of Arthur, and picked up one with light grey fur and yellow eyes. The pup let out a little whine of protest and being lifted by the scruff of its neck, but did not resist. He grabbed another that had light brown fur and handed it to Bran.

“Do you want to hold it?” he said. Bran nodded his head eagerly and Jon gave the pup to him, instructing him to hold it carefully.

“They don’t belong out here,” said Ser Rodrik Cassel.

“Better a quick death than to starve,” agreed Uncle Ned, and Theon drew his dagger and grabbed the pup Bran was holding out of his arms.

“No!” yelled Bran.

“Put away your blade,” hissed Robb.

“I take orders from your father, not you,” retorted Theon.

“Please Father!” protested Bran.

“Lord Stark,” said Jon loudly, drawing everyone’s attention before more arguing could ensue, “there are five pups here, one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house, you were meant to have them.”

Arthur gave Jon a look that he ignored, and focussed on Uncle Ned.

He looked uncertain and remained silent for several moments. “You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die...” he paused, and gave both Robb and Bran a significant look.

“You will bury them yourselves.” Robb stepped forward and outstretched his arms. Jon handed the one he held and gave it to him, then handed another with dark grey fur and a deeper gold colour pair of eyes than the one Jon first held. Jon then grabbed the remaining two, one with black fur and green eyes and the other with smoky grey fur and yellow eyes and handed them to Theon.

“What about you?” asked Bran holding the brown one to his chest tightly.

“He has a dragon. What good would a direwolf do him?” said Theon.

“Theon is right,” said Jon, though he glared at the ironborn for the reminder of his Targaryen heritage.

“I’m not a Stark.” Theon let out a snort, but said no more as he carried the pups he held away, while Robb and Bran followed him. Jon went to leave as well, but stopped when he heard a rustle of leaves and a small whine.

He went back to the dead mother, searching for the noise, and found below the corpse a tiny runt with fur white as snow and eyes red as blood.

“The runt of the litter. That’s one’s your’s, Prince Jon,” said Theon condescendingly when Jon had picked it up to show the others. Jon scowled at the nerve of Lord Stark’s ward.

“Still better than a squid,” he sneered with a smirk at Theon, who was no longer smiling.

Robb could not hide his grin, while Bran openly laughed. It was Theon’s turn to scowl and he marched off, grumbling under his breath. The heir to the Iron Islands was still in a foul mood when they got back to the horses, and Syndorion was much the same, looking down at the direwolves with contempt.

“He’ll probably go back to a tavern to fuck a whore,” said Robb in a quiet voice so that only Jon could hear.

“Probably. Will you be joining him?” asked Jon, and he smirked as Robb’s face turned beet red.

“Not today. Maybe you should go for once in your life,” retorted Robb, and Jon’s smirk fell.

“I’ll never go there,” he said hotly, and when Robb blanched, he added in a softer voice, “Sansa would have me castrated if she found out.”

That seemed to do the trick, for Robb’s smile returned and he let out a bark of laughter. “I think she would do worse than that,” he snorted.

“Aye. I was just trying to put her in a good light,” laughed Jon.

“People say that Arya’s the she-wolf, but Sansa’s more like that dragon of yours when she loses her temper.”

Jon smiled, and as Robb rode ahead to be next to his father, he said quietly to himself, “I would not have her any other way.”

**SANSA**

She was stitching a black direwolf head with red eyes onto a handkerchief while she sat on a barrel, her eyes glancing every now and again over to the men-at-arms who were training harder than usual, no doubt because Sansa was watching. She was going to give it to Jon for him to wear as her favour and she had chosen the black and red for Jon’s House colours, and for the colour of Syndorion.

At nearly ten and seven years old, Sansa was a woman grown and flowered, and had grown into a great beauty. At least, that was what she had been told by almost everyone she knew. Except for Jon, that is. But Sansa would not fault the prince for it, for he was a man of little words and preferred to show his affections rather than speak them. He was a far cry from the golden-haired prince who would sing songs that she had once imagined as a little girl, but Sansa would not have Jon any other way with his dark curls and solemn face.

Thinking of Jon always made her heart flutter and her smile grow wider. In the ten years she had known him, he had grown from a shy boy trapped in an unfamiliar world to a man who looked and acted every bit a Northerner. He was so much like Sansa’s father that it was almost unnerving. There were differences as well. Where Lord Eddard was shorter and more thickly muscled, Jon was tall and lean, though Sansa had seen that he was well-muscled as well.

He was an excellent fighter as well. In fact, Sansa believed he was possibly the best fighter she had ever seen after Ser Arthur Dayne. He was fast and agile, almost the opposite of Robb, who used his strength to his advantage.

Thinking of her time spent with Sansa used to make her feel warm inside, remembering every walk together, every conversation, every touch and the occasional kiss on the cheek or lips. As they grew older those chaste kisses would become longer and more heated, and they would have to stop quickly before they gave in to their base desires. But now, the reminders made her sad, for Jon’s time in Winterfell was almost at an end, and that meant he would soon be traveling back South to King’s Landing, the place she knew that Jon hated.

What was worse for Sansa was that the King had probably agreed to a betrothal for Jon to some Southron lady of high birth, and not to her. It made Sansa’s heart ache to think of Jon with another woman that was not her. She remembered the first time she had gone to her mother to express her fears six moons ago. At the time, she did not know what these feelings were, until her mother explained them to her.

“You love him, don’t you?” Mother had said knowingly.

“I- what?” Sansa had spluttered. 

“Everyone can see it sweetling, even if you yourself do not know it yet,” said Mother. “Why do you think there have been more offers of marriage for Arya than for you?”

“I did not know that!” snapped Sansa, suddenly feeling insulted that her younger sister had received more offers of marriage than her.

“I do not mean it as an insult Sansa,” said Mother, “I am just saying that all the lords in the North can see how close you are to the prince. Maege Mormont even said to me the last time she came to visit Winterfell that you and Jon are the spitting image of myself and your father.”

That would not have been the first time that Sansa had heard that.

“It does not matter how I feel about Jon,” said Sansa stiffly, “no doubt the King has already agreed to a betrothal to a Southern lady, and I shall marry a Northern lord and bear him sons, as is my duty.” Mother had looked at her sadly, but had said no more on the matter.

Sansa was jolted from her melancholy thoughts when something furry rubbed against her exposed ankle, and she gasped when she looked down and saw a wolf pup with light grey fur and yellow eyes looking up at her expectantly.

“Oh, hello little one. Who have you run from?” said Sansa in a sweet voice. The pup let out a whine and placed its paws on Sansa’s feet.

“She’s the gentle one,” said a deep, yet quiet voice that Sansa knew automatically. She lifted her head up to see Jon giving her one of those rare smiles of his. He was holding a pup with pure white fur and red eyes that slightly unnerved Sansa, as though it was staring right into her soul. Sansa quickly hid the unfinished handkerchief behind her back so that Jon would not see.

“Is she now? And where did the prince find you?” she asked as she lifted the grey pup up and onto her lap, where is lay down in the small dip between her legs.

“In the Wolfswood. Their mother was killed by a stag, so we decided to bring them back home and gift them to the Stark children,” explained Jon. “They’re direwolves.”

“I thought they no longer lifted South of the Wall?” said Sansa in confusion.

“Neither did Lord Stark, but here they are,” said Jon with a shrug.

“Who does that one belong to?” asked Sansa, indicating her head to the white pup Jon still held.

“There was a spare wolf for me,” answered Jon with a grin.

“A dragon and a wolf. You certainly have strange pets, my prince,” said Sansa, her face now matching Jon’s expression.

“I think I shall name him Ghost. He hasn’t made a noise since I found him, except for when he tried to get my attention,” said Jon quietly. “If he hadn’t I think we might have walked right past him.”

“You are naming him Ghost because he is quiet?” said Sansa in an amused voice.

“That and because of his white fur,” he added. “What shall you name yours?”

“Hm,” said Sansa thoughtfully, looking down at her lap to see her own wolf looking up at her expectantly. “You say she is gentle?” When Jon nodded, Sansa continued, “A perfect little lady aren’t you? That shall be your name then. Lady.”

Her newly christened wolf let out a small yip, as if she liked the name. She heard a loud cry then, and looked over to see Arya and Rickon racing toward Robb and Bran, who had four other wolf pups with them.

“Starks indeed,” commented Jon. Sansa could not stop the laugh that escaped her lips as Lady ran off to join her siblings, and she smiled even wider when Jon offered her his hand.

“Shall we join them, my lady?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Of course, though I was rather hoping that we might go somewhere else...” Sansa’s voice trailed off and she gave Jon a coy smile. Jon practically growled as he grabbed Sansa’s hand tightly and led her out of the courtyard to find a dark corner for their alone time.

_Damn, now I have to redo the entire handkerchief,_ thought Sansa idly.

**NED**

The blood of the Night’s Watch deserter came off the blade of Ice easily as Ned ran a wet cloth over it. In a few more runs of the cloth, the blood would be all but gone, not a trace left on the smooth, smoky grey Valyrian steel.

Jon’s reaction to the deserter’s ramblings about White Walkers concerned Ned greatly. The last time a Targaryen became invested in a myth, it had started a war that cost Ned the life of his father, brother and sister, as well as his best friend and thousands more.

He shouldn’t have been thinking of Jon in that way. The prince was more Stark than Targaryen, except for the dragon he controlled. He looked and acted Northern, spoke like a Northerner and fought like a Northerner. Lyanna left more of herself in Jon than Rhaegar ever did.

Ned was disrupted from his thoughts when he heard skirts brushing against the ground and soft footsteps. He looked up from his greatsword to see Catelyn walking over to him and holding a letter.

“A raven came while you were away,” she said, and handed Ned the letter. The first thing he noticed was the red sigil of House Targaryen stamped on the side.

_To Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North._

_Much has happened since the last letter was sent to you. By the time this raven reaches you, the King’s party will be halfway through the Riverlands to Winterfell. Prince Jon’s time as your ward is almost over, and the King has taken it upon himself to bring his son home._

_Know that it was not our decision to let you know of these plans so late, but the King felt it time that he saw the North himself, and to meet his son personally. The entire royal family will be coming, and it is the King’s hope that you prepare your household adequately for their arrival._

_There are other matters that cannot be spoken of via raven, there are too many spies in Westeros and what the King must speak of is concerns the security and welfare of his lands._

_We hope this letter finds you well, and that the Prince Jaeherys is ready to receive his family._

_Jon Connington, Hand of the King._

Ned scrunched the letter in his fist and growled in anger. “The King does not trust us to send his son safely back to King’s Landing?” he demanded angrily.

“The King must only want what is best for his son,” said Cat.

“If he wanted that, then he would have sent more ravens asking of his son’s wellbeing instead of ignoring him for ten years,” Ned spat bitterly.

“Careful of how you speak of the King,” warned Cat.

Ned glared at his wife, but he sighed and nodded. “Forgive me, my lady. I spoke out of turn.”

Cat smiled sadly and sat next to Ned, then ran her long fingers through his long, dark hair.

“I understand your frustration, truly I do,” she said soothingly. “In truth, I do not want Jon to leave us either. But we knew that this day would come eventually.”

“What will we tell the children? What will we tell Sansa?” asked Ned hopelessly. “It will break our eldest daughter’s heart to see him leave forever.”

“Maybe Jon won’t have to leave Sansa behind,” suggested Cat. “Maybe she will go with him.”

“We do not have the power to organize a-”

“I know that Ned. But that does not mean we cannot suggest it to the King,” interrupted Cat. “We can show him how the two interact with each other. Anyone can see it, even Rickon. The other day he asked me when Jon and Sansa were going to be married.”

Ned let out a deep chuckle. “He did, did he?” Cat laughed as well.

“He is quite certain that those two are meant to be together,” she said.

“Well, if we cannot convince the King, then surely Rickon can,” said Ned in a conspiratorial voice. “And Robb, and Bran and even Arya.”

**JON**

Clean-shaven and with a haircut and standing in line next to the Starks, Jon has never felt so out of place in his life as the King’s entourage consisting over nearly two hundred people filed into Winterfell’s courtyard. Underneath the dark grey furs and brown leather coat, Jon wore a black jerkin and doublet with crimson trimming, as well as a three-headed dragon badge. It was the first time Jon had worn something representing his House since he traveled to White Harbour all those years ago.

When Uncle Ned had first come to Jon with the letter stating that the royal family was coming to Winterfell, it had taken every ounce of his willpower to not tear the letter into pieces and run as far away as he could. Instead he had adopted that cold mask of indifference he had developed whenever someone mentioned Rhaegar to hide the simmering rage underneath.

“I am glad that King Rhaegar will be coming to visit. It has been a long time since I have seen anyone from my Father’s side,” he said stiffly.

Unfortunately, Uncle Ned had been able to see straight through Jon’s facade. “Jon, I know you are angry about-” Ned had begun to say, but Jon cut him off.

“Thank you for informing me of this development, my lord,” he said, and without waiting to be excused, he bowed and left his uncle’s solar.

Later that night when most of the castle had fallen asleep, Jon had snuck outside and taken all of his pent-up anger on the training dummies. Ghost had been his only companion, watching Jon with his usual silence.

“I think he’s dead,” said a voice from behind Jon, and the prince had groaned.

“Whatever you have come here to say, I would rather you not beat around it Arthur,” Jon had panted. Arthur had chuckled and stepped out of the shadows he was hiding in.

“You are not happy with your father,” he guessed.

“I fucking hate him,” hissed Jon.

“No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine, I don’t hate him. But I don’t like him either,” said Jon. When he smacked the blunted sword against the dummy’s neck so hard the blade got buried in its neck Jon let out an angry shout. “Who does he think he is? He sends me here for ten years, and in that time he never speaks to me unless it was to ask on my dragon-hatching progress, and after Syndorion hatches he only asks that I lock him away!” Jon growled furiously.

“Your father is only thinking of the good of the realm. Perhaps he was too busy to send a proper letter to you,” suggested Arthur.

Jon had snorted. “Even kings are allowed to have breaks every now and again,” he said derisively.

“Jon,” said Arthur in a firm tone, and he placed a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You may not see it, but your father is a good man. He has made mistakes, but he has always done his best to make things right for the good of the realm.”

“Was taking my mother away and starting a war for the good of the realm?” Jon had asked hotly. When Arthur could not provide an answer, he had snorted again. “That is what I thought.”

“He loves you, you know,” said Arthur softly. “If you were to be half the man he was, you would still make a fine king.”

“I will never be like Rhaegar,” Jon had said so angrily that Arthur had backed away in shock.

“Jon I-”

“If you’ve only come here to try to convince about how great a man Rhaegar is, you might as well leave,” snapped Jon, and he turned away from his bodyguard/oldest friend.

“That’s not the only reason.” Jon had quickly turned around to find Arthur holding out a sword, sheathed in a scabbard of the darkest leather, with rubies set into the mouth of the scabbard. Jon recognized the hilt, and his eyes widened in realization.

“Dark Sister?” he had said in wonder, his anger at Rhaegar momentarily forgotten.

“The very same blade wielded by your ancestors since Queen Visenya,” said Arthur, and he let Jon grab the sword from him. Jon twisted the sword around in his hands, inspecting every part of the sword’s scabbard before he unsheathed it in one swift motion. The ruby encrusted in the centre of the crossguard seemed to almost glow in the dark training yard, and the golden crossguard and pommel reflected the light coming from the nearby torches. The blade itself was a darker steel than Ice, though the rippling patterns unique to Valyrian steel were still easily visible.

“You are one of the finest swordsmen I have ever met, my prince, and though you have never fought in battle, and I pray you never do, the King has asked that I give you one of the two ancestral swords of House Targaryen,” said Arthur in a reverent voice.

“You think I am worthy of wielding Dark Sister?” said Jon in surprise.

“Of course. Just don’t try to kill your father with it when he comes here,” replied Arthur, and he grinned at the joke.

In the present, Jon’s hand went to rest on the pommel of Dark Sister, which he had altered from the golden flames to the head of a white direwolf with red eyes. Arthur had frowned at the alteration of the sword, but said nothing, and Jon thought that it was a subtle yet fitting tribute to his mother’s family.

Jon saw his father ride through the gates, clad in black furs and a dark crown with ruby gems encrusted in it. His silver-gold hair had grown past his shoulders, and more line creased his face, but he otherwise still looked every bit the king Jon had remembered from his youth. Sheathed at his waist was Blackfyre, the brother sword of Dark Sister, and a red cape flowed down from his shoulders to his feet as he dismantled his white horse. Behind Rhaegar, Jon could see the other six members of the Kingsguard; Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander. Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Oswell Whent, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, Ser Jorah Mormont with his Valyrian steel bastard sword Longclaw strapped to his waist and Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.

When the King approached the Starks, Jon’s relatives and the entire Stark household all dropped to one knee, except for himself, who was on an equal status as Rhaegar.

Rhaegar regarded Uncle Ned for a moment before he bid them to all stand.

“My King, Winterfell is yours,” said Uncle Ned.

“Thank you, Lord Eddard,” said Rhaegar, and after he had clasped hands with Uncle Ned, he walked over to Jon. Jon felt his muscles tense up, and he tried to hide his distaste as Rhaegar seemed to look him up and down. “The last I saw you, you were a boy Jaeherys. Now you are a man grown,” said Rhaegar, and he placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, but he quickly let go when Jon stiffened under the touch. “And Ser Arthur has found you worthy of Dark Sister as well.”

“Your Grace, it is good to see you again,” said Jon, and he found the lie a bitter pill to swallow.

Rhaegar seemed to sense Jon’s dishonesty, because he frowned deeply. Jon could feel Uncle Ned, Aunt Catelyn’s and Arthur’s disapproving stares boring into him, but he paid them no mind. Rhaegar nodded, then he went and placed a kiss on the back of Aunt Catelyn’s hand. To Jon’s surprise, Aunt Catelyn’s face turned red as she blushed. “Lady Catelyn, it has been some time since I saw you last,” said Rhaegar.

“Indeed, Your Grace. A long time,” said Aunt Catelyn.

“Regardless, you are still as beautiful as ever,” said Rhaegar with an easy smile, and Jon had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes at his father’s flirtations. “The heir to Winterfell himself,” Rhaegar said then as he stood before Robb.

“Your Grace,” said Robb and he bowed low to the King.

“You seem like a capable young man,” commented Rhaegar.

“I have faith that you will be an excellent advisor to my son when he becomes king.”

When Robb thanked the king for his compliment, Rhaegar moved to greet Sansa, and Jon’s jaw twitched. “Aren’t you a beauty?” he said. “You look much like your mother at that age,”

“Thank you, Your grace,” said Sansa with a curtsey, and Jon saw her blushing as well.

The most interesting interaction was when the King was introduced to Arya. Rhaegar froze and his eyes widened in shock, and anyone who knew Rhaegar could tell that he was seeing Lyanna Stark. He said nothing to Arya, except to place a kiss on Arya’s hand before he went to meet Bran and Rickon. “I would like you all to meet my wife, Queen Cersei,” said Rhaegar once introductions were out of the way.

Jon could see that despite the pleasant face she put on, Cersei was not pleased to be here. “And my three other children. Jofaerys, Myrcella and Tommen, as well as my sister Daenerys.”

Jon looked over to see his half-siblings. There was Jofaerys, golden-haired and green-eyed and as sinister as ever. Myrcella, who was the spitting image of her mother except for the purple eyes, and Tommen, silver-haired, green eyed and plump. Tommen was born after Jon had left for Winterfell, so he knew him the least. Myrcella had grown into a beautiful young woman, between the ages of Sansa and Arya.

When Jon saw Daenerys, his jaw dropped. She was far shorter than Sansa, but she had also become one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. She was petite, but her breasts were full and her hips wide. Her face was flawless, and her silvery hair had been styled into a simple braid that hang over her shoulder. The furs she wore were looked enormous on her small frame, but her violet eyes were wide with wonder as she looked around Winterfell’s courtyard. When Dany’s eyes settled on Jon, her face broke into a wide smile that caused Jon to smile as well. Dany lifted up her skirts and furs and ran across the court, before she launched herself at Jon so hard and fast he barely had time to catch her.

“I missed you so much!” she said excitedly in Jon’s ear. When they pulled away from each other, Jon noticed the way she looked at him, and he eased Dany away slightly. She looked slightly hurt, but Jon had already looked away from his aunt to look at his cousins.

“It is a pleasure to see you again as well Daenerys,” he said as politely as he could. Dany seemed even more put out by Jon’s behaviour, but he could not do anything about it. Right now, propriety was more important.

Just then, two loud screeches cut through the air, and the royals looked surprised by how the Starks, or the rest of the castle’s inhabitants, did not seem surprised by it. Two great winged creatures flew overhead, and Jon lifted his head up to see a green dragon and a creamy-white dragon circling above Winterfell’s tallest towers. He instantly took note of how they were almost half the size of Syndorion, and Jon scowled. The King had ignored Jon’s warnings, again.

“If you would not mind, I would ask that my son take me down to your crypt to pay my respects,” said Rhaegar to Uncle Ned, bringing Jon’s attention back to the humans on the ground.

“The dead can wait, my love,” said Cersei, and Jon scowl deepened at the woman.

“I would rather see her now,” Rhaegar said through gritted teeth. “Jaeherys?”

Jon stepped forward, and without a word, he led his father down to the crypts. It felt uncomfortable, to say the least. It was the first time either had been alone together in ten years, down in a place a man with no Stark blood did not belong in. He led Rhaegar over to the nearest crypt, which was the grave and statue of his mother. Standing a respectable distance were Arthur and Ser Gerold Hightower, though they both made sure the prince and King remained in their lines of sight. Rhaegar said nothing, and just stared at the grey likeness of Lyanna Stark for a long time. Jon shuffled on his feet awkwardly, feeling more uncomfortable with every passing second.

“It does not look like her,” Rhaegar finally said, his voice slicing through the damp silence and echoing off the walls.

“Uncle Ned said the same thing,” replied Jon. “Neither do Uncle Brandon and Grandfather either.”

“Your uncle, was he good to you?” asked Rhaegar, tearing his violet gaze away from Lyanna’s statue to stare at his son. “

He was.”

Rhaegar gave a small grunt of approval, then his dark purple eyes rested on Dark Sister. “You changed the pommel,” he noted.

Jon’s eyes dropped down to look at the snarling white wolf’s head, and he smiled. “I thought the combination of the rubies and gold, with the wolf’s head would be a good way to display the two Houses I come from proudly,” explained Jon. When Rhaegar looked interested, but confused as well, Jon frowned. “I already told you this in my last letter.”

“I did not read your letters,” said Rhaegar.

“You didn’t read my letters?” repeated Jon, and his voice betrayed some of his anger.

“I did, but I would rather hear the words from your lips,” said Rhaegar.

“Yet you never replied to any of my letters,” Jon accused.

“I was busy-”

“Too busy for your own son?” Jon’s voice echoed off the walls louder this time, and Rhaegar frowned disapprovingly.

“When you are King, you will understand,” said Rhaegar as though he were scolding a small child.

“I will not be a king who refuses to spend time with his children, just like you,” snapped Jon, and Rhaegar’s eyes widened in shock.

Behind Rhaegar, Jon could see Gerold shift uncomfortably on his feet, and Arthur staring at him in disappointment.

But Jon was not finished. “Ten years I was away, and the only news I could get that did not concern dragon eggs was from Dany and occasionally Myrcella. Do you know how much it hurt to not have a father who cared enough to write to me? Ser Arthur can tell you all about how I spent most of my nights during the first two years living here crying myself to sleep.

“Do I shame you that much Rhaegar? Or do I remind you too much of my mother that you had to send me away to spare yourself the pain? Do I look like her too much? Do you blame me for her death?!”

“That is enough,” growled Rhaegar, and Jon was too surprised by how Rhaegar had raised his voice that he listened. His purple eyes hardened like amethysts and his jaw clenched. “If you honestly think that I blame you for your mother’s death, or that I shame you, you are mistaken.”

Rhaegar took a step froward carefully as his eyes and voice softened. “Looking at you now, I could not be more proud of you. Lord Stark and Ser Arthur have raised you well to be a kind, honourable man. Your mother would be proud of you as well.”

“Then why send me away?” pleaded Jon.

“To keep the peace. The fact that you look more Stark than Targaryen made many in court whisper foul things.”

“I heard them Father. I could have lived with that.”

Rhaegar smiled sadly. “They were being polite because they knew you were here. Since you have left, the rumours have only gotten worse,” he said in a voice that mirrored his solemn face. “I wished to spare you of that. You have grown so much in the last ten years, when I came here I thought I was staring at the likeness of Eddard Stark.”

Jon did not know what to say. It was probably the closest thing Rhaegar had ever come to offering an apology to him. While Rhaegar never actually said the words, Jon could still understand.

“I apologize for my harsh words before, Your Grace,” apologized Jon. “I did not truly mean them.”

“But they were understandably true,” said Rhaegar.

“By your leave, I will return to the surface and prepare for tonight’s feast.” Rhaegar regarded Jon for a moment, before he nodded and Jon walked past him quickly. When Jon was halfway between Rhaegar and the two waiting Kingsguard, Rhaegar called out to him.

“You do not call me Father anymore,” he said.

Jon stopped in his tracks. “You haven’t been my father for a long time now,” he answered without looking back. “Maybe one day you will earn that back.”

“Dany has asked me to request that you be her escort to tonight’s feast.”

“I have already promised the Lady Sansa that honor.”

“Very well.”

* * *

 

Jon waited outside Sansa’s chamber doors, and he shuffled nervously from foot to foot. He ignored Jory and Arthur’s amused grins and stared down at the little white wolf that peered up at him with red eyes. Jon was wearing an expensive black leather doublet, with the red three-headed dragon of his House stitched to the left breast. His hair had been combed back, but a few curls and escaped and dangled in front of his face. He did not wear Dark Sister, as it was a feast, though Arthur did have Dawn strapped across his waist.

The door opened up, and out stepped Sansa, and Jon’s jaw dropped. She was wearing a beautiful woolen dress the colour of winter roses, with a grey direwolf with yellow eyes and a white direwolf with red eyes chasing each other stitched into the skirts. Her neckline was a little lower than usual, revealing the very top of her cleavage. Her hair of fire was spun up in a Southern style, though Jon could see elements of the North in it was well from the way the hair on the back of her hair was let free to cascade down her back.

“You- you look...” stammered Jon. He had never been good with words, and if he were to speak to a Southern lady this way they surely would have laughed at him. But this was Sansa, and she understood him better than anyone else perhaps.

“Yes Jon?” she said in that way that settled Jon’s nerves.

“You look beautiful,” he said after clearing his throat and looking at Sansa shyly. Her face turned red at the compliment and she lowered her head, though she continued to look at him through her eyelashes.

“Thank you,” she said demurely, and Jon quickly offered her his arm, which she took gladly.

When Jon saw Arthur smirk, he glared at his sworn shield and hissed, “Not a word!” before he escorted Sansa down to the main hall.

Robb and Dany were already waiting outside, and Jon tried his best to ignore the upset look Dany had on her face. Robb looked miserable as well, and he gave Jon a harsh look that had the prince shrugging. Arya came down with Jofaerys soon after, and Jon saw the way that Arya was looking at his half-brother like she wanted to murder him, and Jon grinned when he caught his cousin’s eye. When Bran came down with Myrcella, the young highborns stood in two lines. Jon was in the front with Sansa, Robb with Daenerys, Arya with Jofaerys and Bran with Myrcella at the back.

The doors opened, and Jon and Sansa led the way inside the main hall, where numerous lords and ladies, as well as much of the household and guards sat at the tables. Uncle Ned and Rhaegar looked extremely uncomfortable as they sat next to each other in the middle, with Aunt Catelyn and Cersei on the sides of their respective husbands.

Jon helped Sansa sit down at her table, where Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel were sitting, before he went to sit at another table with Robb, Bran, Rickon and some of the lordlings. Jofaerys gave Robb and the other Northern lordlings a disgusted look, as though he were their superior, but it quickly vanished when Jon glared at him.

Jon spent much of the night talking with Tommen, as the young prince was born after Jon had come to Winterfell. Jon discovered that he was nothing like Jofaerys or even himself, Tommen hated swords or violence of any kind.

He owned a litter of kittens that he kept hidden from Jofaerys because the second prince had cut his last kittens to pieces just because he could. When Tommen told Jon that, the dark-haired prince smacked Jofaerys over the head for it.

Tommen loved to hear stories, and pestered Jon about his time in the North. As he was recalling how Syndorion found the direwolf pups, Jon thought that his littlest brother would get along excellently with Sansa.

As the feast went on and more and more people got drunk on ale and mead,Rhaegar stood up and clapped his hands loudly, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the hall.

“I thank you all for allowing my family and myself into your halls,” he said loudly so that everyone could hear. “The food is excellent and the wine even more so. I do believe that many lords here will attest to that.” Rhaegar’s jest earned several loud laughs from many of the lords gathered at the feast.

“I am even more thankful,” continued Rhaegar, “towards Lord Eddard Stark, for raising my son Jaeherys into the fine young man he is today.” Jon scowled at the use of his real name, and Robb grabbed his forearm from under the table to control him. “Just as the dragon that flies over the Northern skies attests to his Targaryen lineage, his looks and that little white wolf hiding under his table proclaim his Northern bloodline. A dragon raised by wolves!”

There was a thunderous noise as people banged their fists against the wooden tables, along with loud booming cheers in agreement of the King’s words. _Rhaegar certainly knows how to work with people,_ thought Jon.

He scratched the back of Ghost’s ears affectionately, and the white direwolf pup licked his wrist. Jon did not pay much attention to the rest of Rhaegar’s speech, instead tending to Ghost, so he was surprised when people started to get up and dance. Cersei came over and grabbed Tommen, ignoring his protests about not being tired despite his yawn halfway through his tantrum. Cersei glared at Jon when the older prince bid his younger brother goodnight, and he returned the look which caused the Queen to huff and drag Tommen and Myrcella away.

_I am not the scared little boy you tormented anymore_ , thought Jon. Jon did not dance, instead he followed his father and uncle’s example and stayed where he was and watched everyone dance, laugh and have fun in general, while he picked up Ghost and placed the small pup on his lap. The direwolf fell asleep under Jon’s ministrations, while the dark-haired prince watched everyone carefully.

Jon jumped in surprise when somebody sat down next to him, but relaxed when he saw it was only Arthur, who had begun to help himself to some of the leftovers.

“Having fun?” he asked through a mouthful of chicken.

“It’s not the worst night I’ve had of my life,” replied Jon with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You are a strange fellow,” said Arthur.

“That is not the first time you have said that to me, but every time you do it is for a different reason,” said Jon with a small grin. “Tell me, what is it that you find so strange about me this time?”

“You prefer the company of beasts to your own kind,” answered Arthur, nodding his head at the sleeping Ghost in Jon’s lap.

“Wolves and dragons don’t judge people like humans do,” said Jon.

“I am not so sure about that. I’ve seen both your dragon and wolf give me funny looks in the past.”

Jon chuckled at that. “Well, you are a funny looking man.”

“Very mature, Your Grace,” drawled Arthur with a roll of his eyes. He sat up straighter suddenly and scowled. “Your lady looks to be in trouble.”

Jon followed Arthur’s gaze and saw Sansa looking uncomfortable while Jofaerys was talking animatedly to her. Jon would not have bothered, if it weren’t for the leering way Jofaerys was staring at Sansa.

“Hold him,” said Jon, standing up from his chair and handing Ghost over to Arthur before he marched over to Sansa and Jofaerys.

“...my father is confident that I will become the greatest swordsman the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen,” Jon heard Jofaerys boasting to Sansa as he got closer.

“Really brother? I would most certainly like to witness your supposed skill with a sword sometime during your stay here,” called out Jon, and Jofaerys glared at him angrily while Sansa looked relieved.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you, _half-brother_ ,” spat Joff, as Jon had heard Cersei call him.

“I did not say anything about proving yourself,” said Jon with false kindness, “I merely wished to find an excuse to spend time with my little brother.”

“You are interrupting my conversation with Lady Sansa,” hissed Joff.

“I apologize for the rudeness, but I was hoping that Lady Sansa would like a dance with me?” said Jon, looking at Sansa questioningly.

“Of course, my Prince,” said Sansa. She curtsied to Jofaerys before taking Jon’s hand, but Joff grabbed her arm.

“I was not done talking,” said Joff quietly yet menacingly.

Jon grabbed Jofaerys’ shoulder and squeezed tightly, and the younger prince let out a small squeal before letting go of Sansa’s arm. “You are done talking,” growled Jon, and he let go of Jofaerys once he had nodded his head fearfully.

Jon then led Sansa away from the muling prince. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” said Sansa reassuringly, but she looked a little shaken by the confrontation. “Just get me away from him.”

Jon nodded, and without another word, he took Sansa out of the main hall, Arthur following closely behind.

**NED**

The morning after the feast, Ned and Cat found themselves standing outside of the solar King Rhaegar had been given during his stay in Winterfell. Ser Gerold Hightower and Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard stood outside the closed door, the the Lord Commander opened the door and announced Ned and Cat’s arrival.

When they were beckoned inside, Ned and Cat found the King hunched over his desk, reading through letters. “I will be with you in a moment,” said Rhaegar, and Ned and Cat both sat down in the chairs opposite the King.

The King sighed before dropping a stack of parchment and rubbing his eyes.

“Late morning, Your Grace?” asked Ned.

“Far too late,” said Rhaegar. He leaned forward over his desk and perched his elbows on the top, and Ned had the odd sense that he was being judged as the King’s dark purple eyes drifted between himself and Cat. “You are probably wondering why I summoned you this morning,” said Rhaegar.

“Ser Jorah said that you wanted a report of Jon’s time with us,” replied Cat.

Rhaegar nodded. “Jaeherys and Ser Arthur both have told me of their time here, and also their opinions on Jon’s growth. I would, however, like to hear from my son’s guardians on this matter,” he explained.

Ned and Cat shared a look before Cat spoke first.

“The Prince has adapted wonderfully to the North’s lifestyle, Your Grace. Some would say that it is because of the Northern blood he has, but I say it is because Prince Jon is that kind of person.”

“It was not easy at first,” continued Ned. “Many of my bannermen were angry that I was taking Jon as my ward.”

“The North Remembers,” said Rhaegar. “I am familiar with the term.”

“But they have all warmed to the Prince over the years,” added Ned. “He has won the hearts of many here.”

“And his lessons?” asked the King. “He was not very attentive when he was home.”

Ned scowled at Rhaegar’s thinking that Jon thought of King’s Landing as his home, but Cat stopped him before he could do something stupid.

“That does not sound like the Prince, Your Grace,” she said. “Maester Luwin constantly praises Jon for his quick thinking and understanding. He seems to pick up things faster than most.”

“The same goes for in our simulated war councils,” continued Ned. “He has a very keen mind when it comes to war strategies. He can see pieces moving and come up with countermeasures before my own eldest son can.”

“And the training yard?” asked Rhaegar.

“Ser Rodrik Cassel says the Prince is the finest warrior he has ever taught, though I think that that has something to do with Ser Arthur’s instruction as well,” said Ned. “Even the Sword of the Morning claims him to be a better swordsman than he was at that age.

“He is not as good with the lance, however. The most skilled in that area is Robb.”

“I was the opposite,” said Rhaegar almost wistfully. “I was always better with the lance than the sword.” He leaned back in his chair and brushed some fuzz off his black doublet. “I am glad to hear that my son has done so well here. I am grateful to the both of you for raising him so well.”

“We are proud of the man he has become, Your Grace,” said Cat. “But Lord Eddard and I have something we wish to discuss with you regarding the Prince.”

Ned glared at Cat, and she returned the look before jerking her head towards the King. Ned sighed and said, “A possible union between our two Houses.”

Rhaegar lifted an eyebrow and leaned forward. “I am listening,” he said.

“Over the years since Jon has come to Winterfell, he has grown very close with all of our children,” said Ned. “He and Robb are as close as brothers, Arya idolizes him, and Bran and Rickon adore him.”

“But none of our children are as close to Jon as our oldest daughter Sansa,” added Cat.

“How close?” asked Rhaegar.

“They do everything together. Where one is, the other is not far behind. If Jon is outside in the yards training, Sansa will be cheering for him. We have often found the two sitting together in the library or going for walks together along the castle walls.” answered Cat.

“Jon has also taken Sansa out flying on his dragon,” added Ned.

“What?!” snapped Cat, and Ned felt the blood leave his face.

_I was not supposed to mention that_ , he thought. _Old Gods spare me_.

“Syndorion is fond of Lady Sansa?” said Rhaegar interestedly.

“She is the only other person besides Jon who can get close enough to the dragon without it threatening to kill them,” said Ned.

“Curious, most curious,” said Rhaegar quietly, and he appeared deep in thought. After a moment, he looked back at Ned and Cat, looking pleased. “I have received a number of offers of marriage by many of the Great Houses of Westeros over the past few months, many of which are here right now,” he said, gesturing to the stack of papers. “Before coming here, I was considering agreeing to a betrothal between Jon and Mace Tyrell’s daughter Margaery,” continued Rhaegar, and Ned felt his heart drop.

“The Tyrells have always been loyal to the Targaryens, and such a match would be advantageous to both Houses. However, Mace Tyrell has always been a little too ambitious for his own good.

“But hearing of Syndorion’s affections towards Lady Sansa changes things. A future queen must have a connection with the dragons, and from what you have said and what I saw last night, it is obvious that Jon and Lady Sansa care for one another deeply. There has never been a Northern Queen under the Targaryens, I think we should change that.” Rhaegar stood up then and extended his arm out towards Ned.

Ned hesitated for a moment before clasping it tightly, and the two men shook hands firmly.

“I accept this offer. House Stark and Targaryen shall be united once more,” said Rhaegar.

“It will take some time to finalize the details,” reminded Ned.

“All of which will be completed by the time my family and I leave Winterfell,” said Rhaegar dismissively. When Ned and Cat thanked the King and made to leave, Rhaegar called out to them. “I think it best that we keep this a secret for the time being. We would not want the future King and Queen getting too excited, and I am not quite ready for grandchildren just yet,” he said with a serious voice, but Ned could see the way his eyes twinkled with amusement, similar to how Jon’s did when he was happy.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said Ned, and he bowed before closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had no idea to describe Syndorion's size properly, so I'm just gonna say that he's bigger than Drogon in season 5 but smaller than him in season 6.


	4. The Prince's Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Here's the next chapter!

**DAENERYS**

Jon was avoiding her, she knew it. Dany had her suspicions as to why, and it had something to do with the redheaded Stark girl. Dany was currently sitting across from her, embroidering a red three-headed dragon on a white field. She planned to give it to Jon later on after her lessons with Winterfell’s septa, when he would be in the training yard. Lady Sansa was embroidering a white direwolf’s head on a black field, and Dany resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the Stark girl.

She had yet to meet Jon’s black dragon, but she was certain that Jon was closer to Syndorion than his wolf. Speaking of dragons, Dany heard a loud shriek outside and looked out the open window to see the other two dragons circling over the field outside of Winterfell’s walls. Dany’s green dragon, which she named Greenfyre, was flying behind Vhagar, Rhaegar’s white dragon. Greenfyre would occasionally snap his jaws at the tip of Vhagar’s tail, and the white dragon would roar indignantly.

“Princess Daenerys, what do you think?” said one of Lady Sansa’s friends, bringing her attention back inside Winterfell. Everyone was looking at Dany expectantly.

“Sorry, my mind was occupied with something else,” said Dany politely. “What was it you asked?”

“I was asking who you thought to be more comely, Lord Robb or Lord Theon?” said the girl.

_Jon_ , thought Dany, but she did not say that aloud.

When she did not reply, the girl continued. “I think that Lord Robb is more handsome, but Lady Sansa disagrees.”

“Of course she does,” scoffed another maid, “that’s her brother you are talking about.”

“True,” said the first maid. “Who do you think is the most handsome?”

“Prince Jofaerys,” swooned the second. “That golden hair and emerald hair... I could stare at it all day.”

“He certainly took an interest to Lady Sansa last night at the feast,” said the first maid wistfully.

“Jeyne,” said Lady Sansa warningly.

“Of course, Prince Jon did not look happy about the attention his lady was receiving,” continued Jeyne, nonplussed by Lady Sansa.

“Indeed. He whisked her away rather quickly when he saw Prince Jofaerys trying to flirt with her,” agreed the second maid.

This was an interesting piece of news for Dany, and she felt a powerful wave of hate and jealousy wash over her towards the red-haired girl. She schooled her features into a mask of indifference however, and continued to listen in on the girls’ gossip.

“Of course, everyone knows of Prince Jon and Lady Sansa’s relationship. Ser Arthur has caught them trying to sneak off so many times everyone has forgotten the number,” said Jeyne.

“Has he taken your maiden head yet?” inquired the second maid with a cheeky grin.

“Beth!” cried Lady Sansa indignantly, and Dany watched as her face turned as red as her hair.

“I’m only asking,” said Beth with a shrug.

“He has not taken my maiden head,” snapped Lady Sansa, “he is far too honourable to do something like that.”

“Theon took him to the whorehouse in Winter Town for his ten and sixth nameday,” put in Jeyne.

“And he did nothing there. He returned as quickly as he left,” defended Sansa.

“And who told you that?” asked Beth.

“Jon did.”

“And you believed him?”

“Theon backed his story up, called him a cowardly green boy for a whole month afterwards.”

“I remember that,” said Jeyne.

Dany tuned out the rest of their conversation about Jon, for she was far too mad. It showed in the way her stitchings became more sloppy, but Septa Mordane praised her anyway. When Dany became too frustrated to complete her own kerchief, she gave up and decided to help Myrcella next to her until the lesson was over.

When the septa said they could go, Dany was quick to get up and rush outside to the training yard, where Jon was currently sparring with Robb Stark. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in Jon’s tall, muscular form. His hair was damp, and the white shirt he wore was drenched his sweat. His dark grey eyes were strong and focussed, his face contorted into a scowl of determination, and Dany thought she had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. When Jon spotted her, his scowl disappeared and he smiled brightly and waved at her before he returned to his sparring with Robb. Dany sighed, but stopped short and looked over her shoulder to make sure that none of Lady Sansa’s ladies saw her ‘swooning’, as they called it. She turned back to watch as Jon managed to put Robb on the ground, and she cheered loudly at his victory.

Jon grinned and walked over to her, still holding his tourney sword, wiping the sweat from his brow and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“A good victory,” said Dany.

Jon ducked his head in embarrassment and his face turned red. “Robb is an excellent fighter,” he mumbled humbly. “It was a hard-fought victory.”

“You have not changed that much Jon,” observed Dany.

“What do you mean?”

“You still don’t like it when somebody compliments you.”

Jon’s blush deepened even further, but he said no more as his younger cousin Bran and Tommen stepped into the fighting ring. Both boys wore heavy padding, and Tommen especially resembled a ball. Lord Robb, along with the Greyjoy lord and their friends, as well as Ser Oswell Whent had begun to watch. Ser Rodrik, Winterfell’s man-at-arms, signaled for the boys to start their round.

Jon grabbed Dany’s hand to lead them closer to the fight, and Dany’s heart leapt. Unfortunately for her, Jon let go as soon as they both were standing just behind the wooden fence, and Dany frowned in frustration.

“Watch your left Tommen,” encouraged Jon, and Tommen tried to cover his left side, but in the process he exposed his legs.

Bran smacked his sword into the back of Tommen’s knees, and the youngest Targaryen fell to the ground with a cry. Bran began smashing his sword into Tommen mercilessly as the younger boy tried to get up, but with the amount of padding he wore added his with natural chubbiness and Bran’s attacking, he looked like a beetle that had been flipped onto its back. Jon laughed before he left Dany’s side to jump over the fence and help Tommen on his feet. He offered words of encouragement to his little brother, but Dany did not pay attention, for Jofaerys, as well as a few of his lackeys, had arrived.

“How typical. The wolf bitch’s pup, rolling around in the dirt,” he sneered.

“Joff!” gasped Dany in shock.

“A true dragon would not have lost to a wolf,” continued Jofaerys, ignoring Dany’s hard look.

“And yet Tommen is much tougher than you were at his age,” said Jon cooly. “Do you not remember the first time in the training yard, little brother? You ran away and cried to your mother because I smacked you on the wrist too hard with my sword.”

Robb and Theon burst out laughing, while Dany covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. She remembered that day very well. Cersei had tried her hardest to make sure her precious boy never held a sword in his life, but Rhaegar had been far more stubborn. And so, Jofaerys, the usually arrogant, bragging ponce had been reduced to whimpers because his big brother had given him the beating he deserved.

“All lies!” shouted Jofaerys, but his indignant spluttering only caused everyone to laugh even harder.

“Have you improved since then? I did hear you telling Lady Sansa how Father said you were on your way to becoming the finest warrior the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen,” taunted Jon, and Jofaerys’ face burned red with anger and embarrassment.

“I’ll have your tongue for that!” hissed Joff, and he drew his sword, a sharpened longsword with a golden pommel encrusted with rubies. Instantly the mood darkened, and Jon was no longer grinning. Dany saw his grip on his own sword tighten, his knuckles turning white. Ser Arthur’s hand went to his own sword as well, and Ser Rodrik looked ready to blow a fuze.

“I hope you plan on actually using that,” warned Jon.

“That is enough! There will be no live steel in my training yard!” huffed Ser Rodrik.

Jon raised a hand to settle the master-at-arms, but his gaze never left Jofaerys. “Come brother, prove to us that your words are more than sweet nothings,” said Jon. J

ofaerys smirked and he jumped over the fence, still holding his sword. He attacked first, and before Dany could even blink, he was flat on his back, his fine clothes smeared with mud. She did not even see Jon move, and yet, he had somehow put his younger brother on the ground. Jofaerys snarled and got back up before swinging his sword at Jon, but he parried the attack easily, almost lazily. He parried the next three swings just as easily as well, before he spun around and whacked his sword against Jofaerys’ knees. Joff cried out in pain, then he loudly squealed when Jon’s sword struck the back of his head, and he dropped his sword. Jon reached down and picked up Joff’s sword before regarding it carefully.

Out of the corner of Dany’s eye, she could see Lady Sansa and her maids arrive, and they too were watching and waiting for Jon reaction.

“A fine blade,” he said quietly, “a shame that it is wasted on somebody as worthless as you.”

He threw the blade down at the whimpering form of Jofaerys before he turned his back. Jofaerys picked his sword up, and he looked ready to stab Jon in the back with it, but one look from Ser Arthur and the boy cowed. Dany followed Jon called out to him.

“Jon!” He turned around and gave her a confused look.

“Yes?” She realized then that Jon was standing in front of Lady Sansa, and it appeared as though they had been having a conversation before she interrupted.

“I uh...” Dany was not sure what to say. Was he alright? Of course, he was, he just kicked Joff’s ass. “I was wondering where your dragon was,” she said lamely.

It was the right thing to say, because Jon’s confused look quickly brightened and he looked up to the skies.

“Syndorion should be here sometime today, but he will come in his own time I’m sure,” he said. “I was actually about to go out riding with Lady Sansa to see if he was-”

Jon’s sentence was cut off by a deafening screech, one even louder than any noise Greenfyre or Vhagar could make. The sun was blocked out for a moment as something flew overhead, and Dany gasped when she looked up. It was a dragon, with scales black as night and wings red like blood. the frills on its tail were fanned out for stability while flying, and they too were red. It was easily twice the size of Greenfyre, maybe even more.

“That is Balerion!” exclaimed Dany.

“That is Syndorion,” corrected Jon, and Dany looked away from the dragon to see Jon smiling up at the black dragon.

Syndorion disappeared behind the castle walls, but Jon was already moving. Dany struggled to keep up with him as he practically sprinted to the stables and jumped into the saddle of a strong, muscular black stallion.

“You should probably put on some proper clothes for riding if you want to come,” he said.

“Oh,” said Dany, and she quickly rushed back into the castle, up into the tower that housed the royal family, and chucked on her dress she usually wore for riding. She ran out as fast as she could to see her silver mare ready for riding, and she quickly jumped up and maneuvered her horse to stand next to Jon’s. To Dany’s displeasure, Lady Sansa was riding atop a white mare on Jon’s other side, and she huffed in annoyance. Jon gave her a funny look but Dany did not offer up an explanation and with a snap of her reins, her silver mare took off through the main gates of Winterfell, Jon and Lady Sansa hot on her heels.

Once outside, Daenerys spotted Greenfyre and Vhagar circling over Syndorion cautiously.

“Your dragons are not used to being the smaller creatures,” noted Lady Sansa. She did not say it in an insulting manner, rather stating a fact, yet it still ground on Dany’s nerves.

“And yet there are two of them against one,” she retorted.

“It is no competition as to who has the better dragon,” said Jon, “Let’s just be happy that the dragons have returned.”

Lady Sansa bowed her head and smiled, while Dany glared at the younger girl. With a huff, she continued onwards to the dragons, where Greenfyre and Vhagar had landed on the ground and were now sniffing Syndorion inquisitively. The much larger black dragon let out a deep, rumbling hiss when Vhagar got too close, and the white dragon quickly moved away.

“Why is he acting like that?” asked Dany.

“Syndorion does not like many things,” answered Jon. “But give him time and he’ll learn to tolerate the other two.”

“Greenfyre and Vhagar get along.”

“Your dragons have been together since they hatched. Syndorion has never seen anything close to his size, let alone another dragon.”

“Syndorion is a lot more aggressive than is normal as well,” added Lady Sansa. “From what I’ve seen, Greenfyre and Vhagar are much more tolerant of humans than Syndorion is.”

_She is observant_ , thought Dany. “From what I’ve heard, he does not seem to mind you,” she pointed out.

“Sansa spends the most time with Syndorion besides me,” explained Jon. “But she never goes without me there, as Syndorion has proven to be unpredictable in the past.”

That was a cause for concern to Dany, and was something she would have to bring up with Rhaegar the next time she saw him. She did not voice those fears though, and dismounted from her horse when Jon and Lady Sansa did the same. They walked the rest of the way to the dragons, and Greenfyre walked right up to Dany and gently pushed her with his snout. Dany let out a small bark of laughter as she rubbed the top of Greenfyre’s red affectionately, and the green dragon let out a coo of content.

She looked over to see Jon tending to Syndorion, with Lady Sansa close to his side, watching the other two dragons cautiously.

_You are not a dragon_ , thought Dany as she watched the Stark girl move closer to Jon, until both their bodies were pressed up against each other.

_He does not belong to you_.

Neither Jon nor Sansa seemed to know that, because the next thing Dany knew, Jon was resting his hand against the small of Lady Sansa’s back and guiding her closer to Syndorion. Dany huffed and left Greenfyre to go to Jon, but the next thing she knew a black tail with red frills had landed in front of her. Startled, Dany looked up to see the glowing red eyes of Syndorion glaring down at her, and the black dragon growled menacingly.

“Syndorion, stop!” yelled Jon, and the black dragon let out a screech of fury at Dany. “Get back Dany!”

Dany ran backwards from Syndorion back to Greenfyre, and Syndorion calmed down some while Jon rubbed his hands soothingly along his thick neck. The whole time Lady Sansa looked on in concern, and she gave Dany an apologetic look.

At that moment, Dany felt her heart break.

**JON**

The royal family stayed in Winterfell for over a month before Rhaegar announced his intention to return South. Jon had never before felt so conflicted in his life. Actually, it wasn’t so much a conflict. In his mind, he knew he had to return South and learn how to become a king, but that meant saying goodbye to the Starks. It meant leaving Sansa behind forever so he would be forced to marry some Southern lady, while Sansa would remain in the North to become some lordling’s wife.

Syndorion and Ghost could both sense Jon’s anger at leaving his home, and as a result both the dragon and the wolf had become more aggressive towards other people, particularly towards the Targaryens. Rhaegar could not come within twenty feet of Jon without Ghost growling, and Syndorion had attacked the other two dragons on more than one occasion.

Jon spent most of his free time with either Robb and Arya or Sansa. He trained intensely with Robb, pulled pranks with Arya, and occasionally Bran and Rickon, and went flying with Syndorion. Of course, he was forced to spend time with his other family, and he hated every minute of it. Well, he didn’t hate it when he was with Myrcella or Tommen. It was fun getting to know them, and it was also good to speak and spar with the Kingsguard knights.

He would miss Winterfell and the Starks. He would miss Robb and the brotherly bond they shared, he would miss Arya and the secret sparring matches they would have in the middle of the night and the pranks they would pull on the others. He would miss telling Bran about the exciting stories of the Targaryen dragons and the piggybacks he often gave Rickon. Jon would miss Aunt Cat’s doting ways, how she would always take care of his needs before even her own children, and Uncle Ned’s quiet but strong presence, how Jon could always turn to his aunt and uncle if he had a problem.

He would miss the other friends he had made in the North as well. It had taken a long time for Jon to prove his worth to Uncle Ned’s bannermen, but in the end he had earned their respect. Jon recalled all the times he shared a drink with the Greatjon Umber, and sparred with Harrion and Eddard Karstark. Dancing with Wylla Manderly and describing the Red Keep to little Lyanna Mormont.

Most of all, Jon would miss Sansa. She had grown to become the most beautiful and smartest woman he had ever met, and he would always love her. He loved her skin, pale and soft under his fingers. He loved her hair, red as fire and glowed under the sun. He loved her eyes, blue as sapphires and so full of emotion that it often took Jon’s breath away. Her smile, her laugh, her very voice would send shivers down Jon’s spine, but it was her lips against his that was his undoing. So soft, like velvet made flesh, full and pink. Jon loved how she always seemed to understand him, even if he did not say much, and her presence would always seem to lighten his mood if he were in one of his moods. Jon would always love Sansa, no matter who Rhaegar chose for him to marry. Rhaegar could never take that away from him.

Now, he was standing in the solar Uncle Ned had given Rhaegar, with the King sitting behind his desk and regarding him with little emotion. It reminded Jon of when Rhaegar had told him that he was being sent to Winterfell, but this time Jon was sure that there would be no fatherly hug for his son.

“If you have something on your mind before we begin, you may speak it,” said Rhaegar.

“I have nothing to say that would not anger you,” said Jon curtly.

“You do not want to leave here.”

“No.”

Rhaegar sighed heavily. “Jon, it is your responsibility as prince of the realm to fulfill your duties and do what is best, not for yourself, but for your kingdom,” he said.

“Was it in the realm’s best interest when you kidnapped my mother?” snapped Jon angrily. Rhaegar’s face darkened, and his eyes flashed dangerously, and immediately Jon regretted his words. “I’m sorry, I did not mean-”

“Yes you did,” said Rhaegar coldly. He stood up from his chair, and Jon reflexively took a step back. “Do you hate me so much as to blame me for the death of your mother?”

“I don’t hate you,” replied Jon. When Rhaegar did not look convinced, he added, “I don’t particularly like you either.”

“At least you are honest,” sighed Rhaegar. “But I did not send for you because I wanted to argue over want either of us both want.”

“Then what did you send me for?” said Jon.

“I have received news that your uncle, Prince Viserys has disappeared from Dragonstone.”

“Viserys?” said Jon in shock. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. But according to Lord Varys, a man matching his description was spotted in Astapor with the Wise Masters,” answered Rhaegar.

“The Wise Masters? Are they not the ones who train the Unsullied?” exclaimed Jon.

“Yes, and we have no idea why he is there,” said Rhaegar.

“Viserys was always too ambitious for his own good. It is possible that he thinks himself worthy of the Iron Throne and wishes to claim it for himself,” mused Jon.

“As loathe as I am to admit it, I think you are right,” said Rhaegar. “But it is possible that it is not Viserys in Astapor.”

“Regardless, we cannot let our guard down.Viserys is a little mad.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

It was considered normal to see Jon sitting in a corner away from the crowd during feasts, especially ones as large as the one being held for the King’s farewell. The next morning, the royal party, including Jon and Uncle Ned, who would be joining Rhaegar’s small council as Master of War, would be heading South. 

It was not, however, considered normal to see the prince looking as though he wanted to murder everyone. The white-furred direwolf sitting at his feet that growled at anyone who got too close who was not a Stark only added to the fearsome look the prince was portraying. 

“You should lighten up,” said a voice to his side, and Jon turned his head to spot Arya sitting down next to him. 

“You should stop trying to steal the other lords’ ale,” retorted Jon, and Arya snorted.

“It’s not my fault they’re too drunk to notice their ale is missing,” she said.

“Trust me, a Northerner knows when his ale goes missing,” said Jon sagely, and Arya laughed. 

“You look as though you want to kill somebody.” 

“If it meant that I could stay here for the rest of my life, I would happily do so.” 

“I have no doubt that you would,” agreed Arya, and she went to reach for Jon’s goblet but he moved it out of her reach. 

“You’ve had enough,” he said. 

“I’m a woman grown!” she protested. “You are only fifteen.”

“I have breasts now!” 

“I did not need to hear that.”

“Why? You stare and Sansa’s every chance you get.” 

Jon spat out his drink and felt his face turn red, while Arya gave Jon a triumphant smirk. “I do not stare at Sansa’s... you know,” stammered Jon. 

“Of course you don’t, so why is your face red?” said Arya evilly. 

“You’re horrible,” grumbled Jon. 

“And I’m also your favourite cousin,” countered Arya. 

“Not at the moment.”

“Whatever. Now hurry up and dance with me before Eddard Karstark decides to ask me.” Without waiting for an answer, Arya grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him up from his chair and led him onto the dance floor. Jon pouted while he was forced to perform the steps with Arya, but she gave him a look that dared him to complain. 

Dancing with the prince did not dissuade Eddard Karstark from asking Arya to dance, and Jon stifled a laugh when Arya gave him a pleading look as she was led away from him. Jon shook his head in amusement, his long dark curls waving from the movement, before he went to move back to where he was sitting earlier with Ghost. However, he felt somebody grab his forearm, and Jon whipped his head around to see Dany smiling up at him. 

“Care to dance with your aunt?” she teased, and when Jon grinned, she pulled him back onto the dance floor. They danced together for three entire songs, and by the end of it Jon had laughed so much that his cheeks hurt. It reminded him of when they were children, running around in the Red Keep’s gardens together as they played at being knights and dragons of old. 

He led Dany over to one of the tables, and offered her a drink of wine. Dany accepted it gratefully and she took a deep sip, her violet eyes never leaving Jon’s dark grey. 

“You always hated these things,” said Dany once she finished draining her cup.

“I still do,” replied Jon with a grin. 

“I can tell, your sulking face looked ten times worse until your cousin came and got you,” she teased. 

“I do not have a sulking face,” growled Jon, but Dany only laughed. 

“Right. And I’m not a Targaryen,” drawled Dany before laughing.

Jon joined in soon after, but they stopped when Rhaegar stood up and raised his hands. Jon took a seat next to Dany and looked up expectantly to listen to his father speak. 

“Once again, the people of the North have outdone themselves in showing their hospitality towards me and my family,” began Rhaegar once the hall had quietened down. 

His words earned a few bangs on the tables and a few more cheers.

“I shall not drone on as I did at the welcoming feast, so I shall get straight to business,” he continued. Rhaegar’s eyes drifted over the people gathered in the hall, and they were piercing. “Nineteen years ago, a union was formed between the North and South, of Ice and Fire. While I regret the circumstances of my marriage to Lyanna Stark and the terrible consequences that occurred afterwards, I do not regret the result of that union.

“My son, Jaeherys Targaryen, or as you Northerners so lovingly refer to him as, Jon, the Black Dragon, the Son of Ice and Fire. Unfortunately, despite the birth of Jon, I could not save Lyanna, and the promised union between the North and South remained only half fulfilled. But tonight, I plan to rectify that.

“Arise, Prince Jon! Arise, Lady Sansa!” shouted Rhaegar, and Jon frowned in confusion. 

He heard Dany’s sharp intake of breath as he stood up, and he saw Sansa do the same from across the hall, the same look of confusion on her face. 

“My son received many offers of marriage to the daughters of great lords of the South, and I took every one into account. However, since I have come to Winterfell, I have seen that my son’s future lies not in the hands of a Southern Lady, but a daughter of the North,” said Rhaegar. “I have observed the interactions of Jon with Lady Sansa, and have heard many great things about her, both from her family to the smallfolk of Winter Town. I have seen the relationship between Prince Jon and Lady Sansa, and found myself touched by the love they clearly have for each other. 

“Let this day be known, as the day that Jaeherys of the House Targaryen, become betrothed to Sansa of the House Stark! See for yourselves the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!”

Loud cheers of Jon and Sansa’s names echoed through the hall, and Jon could hear Robb’s loud whistling, Arya’s scream of joy and Ghost’s howl, echoed by his brothers and sisters outside. He saw the proud looks on Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat’s faces as they looked between Jon and Sansa, as well as the pursed lips on Cersei’s face and Jofaerys’ scowl. Arthur too was grinning widely and he raised a goblet at Jon when the two locked eyes, and Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime did the same.

It was the look on Rhaegar’s face, however, that stumped Jon. He had not seen it since he was nine years old, wrestling in the dirt with Arthur. It was a smile, a small, but real smile that made his violet eyes twinkle. Jon felt the stirring of something in his chest he had long thought dead, and the loud noises and faces of the others melted away, so he could only see Rhaegar’s smile. It frightened Jon greatly. 

“I think the newly betrothed should have a dance!” proclaimed Rhaegar, his eyes leaving Jon to face the gathered crowd.

His suggestion was met with thunderous applause, and Jon felt large hands pulling him up from his seat and pushing him onto the dance floor. He met Sansa halfway, and his heart leapt with joy and the beaming smile on her face, and the tears in her eyes. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” asked Jon, bowing lowly and extending his hand outwards. He felt the skin on his hand set fire when Sansa grabbed it with her own, and he lifted his head to see Sansa’s cheeks red with embarrassment. Jon pulled her as close as propriety allowed when the minstrels struck up a slow, Northern song. Sansa sighed and her eyes fluttered closed, and Jon felt the eyes of every single man, woman and child on him. Usually that would make him feel uncomfortable, but on this night Jon could hardly care less, because his father and uncle had ensured that he would never leave his love’s side. 

While Jon and Sansa danced, nobody saw Daenerys slip out of the main hall, tears in her eyes. 

** RHAEGAR  **

When he had escorted Cersei to their rooms and resisted his wife’s drunken attempt at seducing him, Rhaegar departed to his solar to look through some letters that he had not had the chance to look at yet.

It had been a long time since Rhaegar had felt this much happiness, not since being there for Jon’s last nameday in King’ Landing. He could not help but love Jon more than his other children. Of course, he loved all of his children, Jofaerys included despite seeming to take after his grandfather more and more. 

But Jon was special. He was the only one of his children born out of love and not duty, and that included Rhaenys and Aegon. He was Lyanna’s son, and as such Rhaegar felt far more protective of him. It was why he had sent Jon North in the first place, all because of the raven he received ten years ago.

Rhaegar had been in a small council meeting when Grand Maester Pycelle presented him with a letter with no seal. 

_ To Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the Dragon of the Trident, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,  _

_ Your son Jaeherys is in grave danger. My little birds have heard whispers of a plot to murder him on his tenth nameday and make Jofaerys your heir. I suspect that this plot has been concocted by a certain lion who feels he deserves more power than is good, and as such plans to put a weak king on the Iron Throne and act as a puppet master to your second son. _

_ Your heir is not safe in King’s Landing anymore, send him somewhere that he will be safe and surrounded by friends and allies to the Crown . _

_ A Spider. _

After verifying that the letter had indeed been sent by Lord Varys, his Master of Whispers, Rhaegar had organized a meeting that consisted of Jon Connington, his Hand, Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Arthur Dayne. They were quick to decide that Jon needed to go North to Winterfell to be with his mother’s family for a long period of time. 

Despite Lord Eddard having rebelled against him with Robert Baratheon, Rhaegar could trust that the Warden off the North would protect Jon to the best of his ability, and so Rhaegar had ordered Jon Connington to write the letter to Winterfell. The matter of what exactly the Lannisters were planning, and who was involved was argued for days on end, until it was decided that Lord Tywin needed to be watched at all times, and that Cersei be under guard by anyone other than her twin brother. It wasn’t that Rhaegar did not trust Jaime Lannister; he did, but Jaime had been known to break his vows in the past.

Rhaegar knew that his relationship with Jon would become strained, which was only fueled by the fact that he never answered any of Jon’s letters, or even read them. Rhaegar had become too obsessed with protecting Lyanna’s boy that he feared any distraction would cost him greatly. 

Rhaegar was disturbed from his thoughts when his solar door burst open and Daenerys appeared, her face red and eyes swollen from crying.

“You betrothed Jon to that Stark girl?!” she yelled.

“Daenerys, what are you doing up so late?” said Rhaegar, startled to be visited by his little sister at this time. 

“He was supposed to be with me. _ME!_ ” screamed Dany. “We were meant to be together, and you ruined it!” 

“This marriage is for the good of the realm,” said Rhaegar calmly, in an attempt to settle Dany down. Unfortunately it did not work. 

“You must break this off. Tell them you have changed your mind and you are going to marry Jon to me Rhaegar,” pleaded Dany .

“I cannot,” answered Rhaegar gravely. 

“Maybe I can convince Jon. Surely he does not want this betrothal. He loves me, I know he does!” rattled off Dany, and she had begun to pace the room. 

“He wants this betrothal, more than anyone else I think,” said Rhaegar. 

“He doesn’t! He loves me and I love him! It’s that Stark girl, she’s poisoned his mind!” snapped Dany. 

“Enough!” boomed Rhaegar and he grabbed Dany by the shoulders to stop be pacing and ranting. “Jon and Lady Sansa love each other, the same way I loved Jon’s mother. It is rare to find a love of this sort, especially amongst the nobles of Westeros.” 

“That can’t be true. Jon said he loved me,” sniffed Dany. 

“Oh, my sweet sister,” said Rhaegar quietly. “I think he only meant that he loved you as a boy would his aunt, or even his sister or best friend. But his heart belongs to another.” 

“Oh, Rhaegar. It hurts so much,” cried Dany, and Rhaegar enveloped her in a tight hug, while she cried into his shoulder.

** SANSA **

Jon’s hands on her waist and tangled through her hair felt like fire of the good kind. His lips attacked hers with such unbridled passion it startled her at first, but she was giving as good as she got now. She moaned when Jon’s lips started to suck on the back of her neck, and her long nails gripped his shoulders tighter. 

Jon had found her alone in the library early that morning sulking. Admittedly, she was hiding from Jon because she did not want him to leave, but of course he knew where to find her. The next thing Sansa knew, Jon had lifted her up onto the table, stood between her legs and kissed her like he had never kissed her before. 

“So beautiful... all mine...” Jon whispered. 

Sansa responded by catching Jon’s bottom lip between her teeth and nipping at it, and Jon growled in response before he pressed himself closer to her body and kissing her again. Sansa could feel heat and desire warming her stomach and the dampness of her small clothes between her legs, and she knew somewhere in the back of her mind that they were straying into dangerous territory, but she was enjoying it too much. 

“Jon... we have to...” she panted out. 

“I love you,” Jon panted back, and Sansa felt herself freeze. Jon stopped his ministrations when he felt her stop moving under him and he pulled away in concern. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” 

“You’ve never said that to me before,” whispered Sansa. 

“I meant it though. I do love you. I just thought I would say it before I go today,” said Jon quietly. “If you don’t love me I understand- OOF!” 

Sansa cut him off by slamming her lips against his and kissed him hard. When they broke away for air, panting even more than they had before, Sansa cupped a hand across Jon’s cheek. “I love you too,” she said. When Jon’s eyes widened in surprise, she could not help but laugh. “Surely you would have known that by now?” 

“I did not want to get my hopes up, My Princess,” admitted Jon with a sheepish grin.

“We have to go outside now,” said Sansa when she heard shouts outside the library’s window. 

“Don’t want to,” groaned Jon, and he buried his face in Sansa’s hair. 

“You have to, you’re going home,” insisted Sansa and she tried to push him off her. Truthfully she did not want Jon to leave, but he was going back to the South after ten years. 

“I’m already home,” argued Jon. 

“Oh, honestly. You would think I was dealing with a child,” complained Sansa. “We will only be separated for two months before I travel to King’s landing to be wed.” 

“Two months is a long time,” said Jon. 

“Then it is a good thing you will be sending ravens often, won’t you?” 

J on’s answer was a brilliant smile and a kiss on Sansa’s forehead before he took her hand and led her outside.

Most of the King’s retinue was already assembled; King Rhaegar was sitting atop his white horse clad in the very clothes he wore when he first came to Winterfell, his Kingsguard saddled in their own horses behind him. Queen Cersei and the youngest Targaryen children were most likely hidden away in their litter, but Prince Jofaerys was sitting on a white horse with a scowl on his face. Father was sitting on a chestnut stallion next to the King with an uncomfortable look on his face, but he quickly slipped off when he spotted Jon and Sansa. 

“I’ll go get my horse ready,” muttered Jon, seeming to sense the need for privacy and he left towards the stables.

“I will only be gone for a little while, then you will be coming South to marry Jon,” said Father.

“I understand,” replied Sansa. Father offered a small smile. 

“You wish to come with us,” he observed. 

“I am glad to be visiting the South. The entire family will be coming for the wedding. It will be good to spend some time with my brothers and sister before I marry Jon,” said Sansa indifferently, when in truth she wanted to be riding next to Jon right now. 

“You will be reunited with him soon,” promised Father, and he placed a gentle kiss on the top of Sansa’s head before he returned to his horse.

Jon had not returned for a while, so Sansa went to look for him at the stables. There appeared to be no one inside except for horses, and Sansa made to leave until she heard a cough. She whipped back around to find Prince Jofaerys leaning against a wooden beam with an apple in his hands. 

“My Prince,” said Sansa, dipping into a curtsey. 

“Who might you be looking for, my lady?” asked Jofaerys with concern, but the way his eyes gleamed made Sansa think that it a mocking concern. 

“I was wondering where Prince Jon might have disappeared to. He went into the stables to fetch his horse, but I did not see him leave,” explained Sansa, and she took a step back carefully. She had heard of Jofaerys’ cruelty from Jon, and from what she had seen in person, it was still there.

“Will you not speak with me?” asked Jofaerys, but both of them knew that Sansa could not refuse him. 

“Of course my Prince,” answered Sansa. 

“You and my half-brother, you are close, yes?” asked Jofaerys, and he took a step towards Sansa while his head craned around to look at the stables. 

“Yes, my Prince,” answered Sansa. 

“How close?” 

“We are to be wed in two moons. Clearly the King thought that we would be a good match.”  _Don't give him a truthful answer,_ a voice in the back of Sansa's mind said.

“Yes, everyone seems to think so as well.”

“You do not think so?” 

Jofaerys’ eyes finally settled on Sansa, and she swallowed thickly when she saw the mad glint in his green eyes.

“I do not think my bastard of a half-brother to be a good match for anyone. He would never make a good King, one who can rule with an iron fist,” he said vehemently.

“King Rhaegar does not rule by force,” pointed out Sansa.

“And he is weak because of it. Jaeherys is not worthy of the Iron Throne, nor is he worthy of a beautiful young maid such as yourself.”

“And who do you think I should marry?” questioned Sansa. 

“Me,” answered Jofaerys, and he licked his lips vilely as his eyes roamed up and down Sansa’s form. 

“I am loyal to Prince Jon. I will not be seduced by you,” said Sansa defiantly, and she turned her back to leave, but suddenly she felt strong hands wrap around her arm and she gasped. 

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me you wolf-bitch!” snarled Jofaerys, and he raised his arm in the air to strike Sansa. 

Sansa closed her eyes to brace for the blow, but suddenly there was a loud growl and a cry of pain before something fell to the ground screaming. Sansa opened her eyes to see Ghost standing over Jofaerys, who was clutching his wrist and crying while blood dripped from his wrist. Lady sprinted over beside Sansa and growled at the simpering Prince, which only made him crawl further away from the two direwolves. The apple Jofaerys had been eating laid abandoned on the dirty floor, and Ghost’s paw crushed it.

“Sansa!” called out a voice, and Sansa turned around to see Jon riding up on his black stallion. He vaulted off the horse and ran to her side, then began checking over her for injuries. “Are you alright? What happened? I heard screaming and thought it might have been you.” 

“I’m fine Jon really,” said Sansa, and Jon finally saw Jofaerys still crying on the dirt. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing, it was just a misunderstanding,” said Sansa quickly. She did not want for there to be any trouble, especially if it concerned Jofaerys. Who knew what Queen Cersei would do. 

“I know when you’re lying love, now tell me what happened,” commanded Jon.

Sansa sighed and said, “I had come in here to find you but Prince Jofaerys was here. He attempted to harm me because of something I said and Ghost came to protect me.” 

“Lies! She lies!” yelled Jofaerys. 

“Shut it you,” snapped Jon. “We’ll have to take you to the King unfortunately.” 

Sansa only nodded before she allowed Jon to lead her out of the stables, Lady and Ghost following closely behind. 

* * *

“What is your tale, Jofaerys?” asked King Rhaegar. 

“It’s obvious is it not? The girl’s dogs attacked him for no reason!” cried out Cersei angrily. 

“I did not ask you Cersei,” growled the King. “Jofaerys? Speak now.” 

Jofaerys stepped forward and was favouring his injured hand dramatically, even though Maester Luwin had already confirmed that it was hardly an injury worth treating. “I came to offer Lady Sansa a walk back to the farewell party, because that’s what prince’s do for ladies, is that not right Father?” began Jofaerys. “When she refused, I insisted, because of propriety indicated that I had to walk her back, but before I knew it, she had set her filthy wolves on me and laughed when the white one tried to tear my arm off!”

“You fucking idiot! Don’t you dare lie to the King!” growled Jon, and his hand rested on the pommel of Dark Sister. Jofaerys squeaked and ran behind Queen Cersei’s skirts like a small child.

“Hold your tongue you stupid boy!” hissed Cersei, and Jon glared at her, but Sansa rested a hand on his arm. 

“It is not worth it my love,” she said quietly, and underneath her fingers she could feel the tenseness of his muscles lessen. 

“Lady Sansa? Would you step forward?” asked King Rhaegar in a far more polite tone than the one he used on Jofaerys. 

Sansa obeyed his request and stepped away from Jon to stand before King Rhaegar, Father, Mother, Queen Cersei and Jofaerys. In front of them stood Sers Jaime, Gerold, Jorah and Oswell. 

“Can you tell us your side of the story?” requested Rhaegar.

“I had gone to the stables to find Prince Jon, because I had not seen him leave there yet and could not find him,” began Sansa after taking a deep breath. “Instead, I found Prince Jofaerys who seemed to be waiting for me.” 

“Did you speak?” asked Father.

“A little bit,” confirmed Sansa. “He asked me some questions that I thought strange, and he did not seem to like my answers, and challenged...” 

“Challenged what?” pressed King Rhaegar. Sansa felt a brief moment of panic, her eyes eyes darted in search of Jon. She found him staring at her, and when he gave her an encouraging nod, Sansa found her courage again.

“Prince Jofaerys did not seem to think Prince Jon was capable of ruling, and that he did not deserve to be married to me,” she declared with a loud voice.

There were muttering from the people gathered, and Jon looked like he was ready to murder his younger brother.

“What else did he say?” asked King Rhaegar.

“He wanted to have me. When I refused him and said I was loyal to Prince Jon, he became angry and tried to hurt me. That was when Ghost bit Jofaerys, because he was trying to protect me.”

“LIES! THE WHORE LIES!” screamed Jofaerys from behind Cersei.

“You dare to question the honour of my betrothed?” growled Jon, and he drew Dark Sister. “I could challenge you to a duel for the slight against my lady’s honour you piece of scum.”

“Mother, help!” said Jofaerys frantically.

“Enough!” bellowed Rhaegar. “Jon, put away your blade.” Jon scowled, but he did as he was commanded and moved to stand beside Sansa before taking her hand in his. “Lord Stark, is it in a direwolf’s nature to harm a person for no apparent reason?” asked Rhaegar once everyone had settled down.

“My children and Prince Jon have trained their wolves exceptionally, and they are very loyal to their masters,” answered Father. “They would only attack somebody if they felt their master was threatened.”

“And yet Prince Jon was not the one in any danger. So why would his wolf come to Lady Sansa’s aid?” asked Ser Gerold. Father the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard a look as if to say “Do I really have to say it?” and Ser Gerold’s gaze fell on Jon and Sansa’s linked hands. “Of course, forgive me,” he said sheepishly.

“Jofaerys, the evidence presented is in favour of Lady Sansa’a story. What do you have to say for yourself?” said Rhaegar.

Jofaerys drew himself up to his full height. “Lady Sansa may have been telling the truth, but she still slighted me. So I planned to teach her proper manners,” he sneered, casting a hateful look at Sansa.

“By striking her?” roared Jon, and once again Sansa had to restrain him.

“I have taught you to never lay your hands on a woman Jofaerys,” said Rhaegar disappointingly.

“The wolf still wounded my son,” hissed Cersei. “You know the law Rhaegar.”

“No!” yelled Jon. “Father, surely you can understand why Ghost did it.”

“I want a new wolf pelt,” said Cersei with venom in her voice.

“Silence woman,” snapped Rhaegar. “Jofaerys provoked the wolves by threatening a member of the family they share a connection with. I am sure if it were Jon whose safety were in jeopardy, both the wolves and his dragon would have come to his aid.”

“You are letting them get away with this?” howled Cersei.

“Our son provoked the wrath of the North, and was met with its justice in kind.”

Cersei glowered at Rhaegar, before she huffed and walked away, pulling Jofaerys along with her.

“Something tells me that somebody will be paying for that later,” muttered Jon.

Sansa could not help but agree with her love.

"Can we go now? It is getting cold," complained Prince Tommen, and there were several laughs in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't really happy with how the confrontation between Sansa and Jofaerys turned out, as well as the 'sort of not really' trial that took place afterwards. I might come back later and fix it, but for now I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
